THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

PROFESSOR  JOHN  ELOF  BOODIN 

MEMORIAL  PHILOSOPHY 

COLLECTION 


ON  A  WESTERN  CAMPUS. 


On  A  Western  Campus* 

STORIES  AND  SKETCHES  OF 
UNDERGRADUATE  LIFE 


By 

The  class  of 
Ninety-Eight. 

iowa  college, 

u       GRINNELL,  IOWA. 


Illustrated  by 
FRANK  WING. 


Buffalo,  New  York: 

CHARLES  WELLS  MOULTON. 

1897. 


Copyright,  1897, 
By  CHARLES  WELLS  MOULTON. 

ALL   K1GHTS   RESERVED. 


SRD 
URL 

TO  ^c.snsizi 

SELDEN  L.  WHITCOMB,  'S7. 


CONTENTS. 

I.    Co-Education. 

Two  Students  of  Science 17 

Charles  Bigelow  Frisbie. 
Miss  Aylesworth's  Friend 33 

Laura  Thompson  Whitman. 
Her  Cousin  Rob 55 

Florence  Azella  Fonda. 

II.    Portraits. 

Jack  Dumbaugh 79 

Benjamin  Clarke  Marsh. 

In  the  Fall  of  the  Year 95 

Elizabeth  Moore. 

Brainard's  Transformation 107 

Irving  HarTow  Hart. 

III.    Recreation. 

Winning  the  Emblem 121 

Benjamin  Clarke  Marsh. 


Till  CONTENTS. 

"Toggles'"  Suit 135 

Agnes  Sears. 

Ooach  ''Chubby" 149 

Harold  Le  Grand  Beyer. 

IV*    In  Serious  Vein. 

Back  in  the  Sixties 163 

Bessie  Stafford  Gallaher. 

For  the  Scarlet  and  Black 181 

Harlow  Chapman  Richardson. 

The  Work  of  the  Storm 201 

Emily  Lorette  Peck. 

The  Professor's  Story 223 

Frank  William  Johnson. 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

The  Campus Frontispiece 

"  A  whole  gymnasium  in  itself  for 

Milburn" 17 

"Shall  I  come  at  three?" 60 

"Above  all  never  say  a  word  to  any 

of  the  boys  about  this  " 90 

"  So  he  stood  with  bowed  head" 117 

"  Is  Jack  dead  crazy  ?  " 152 


Prefatory  Note. 

THE  immediate  function  of  this  little  vol- 
ume is  to  serve  as  the  annual  production 
of  the  Junior  class  in  Iowa  College.  It  is  be- 
lieved, however,  that  a  somewhat  radical  and 
significant  departure  has  been  made  from  the 
typical  "Junior  annual"  idea,  with  a  result 
which  deserves  attention  beyond  the  limits  of 
local  college  interests. 

These  stories  and  sketches  have  been  writ- 
ten with  the  view  of  presenting,  mainly  in  the 
spirit  of  realistic  interpretation  and  principally 
as  they  are  observed  to-day,  varied  scenes  in  the 
"human  comedy"  of  a  co-educational  college 
between  the  Missouri  and  the  Mississippi. 
Not  so  much  attempt  has  been  made  to  repro- 
duce the  specific  shades  of  "local  color,"  as  to 
paint  such  characteristics  as  are  essentially 
representative  of  numerous  institutions  of 
similar  type  in  the  West. 

Some  study  is  given  to  the  conditions  of  the 


Xll  PREFATORY    NOTE. 

school  in  its  early  days — the  days  of  "the 
War";  and  some  report  is  made  of  the  capri- 
cious hostility  of  Nature,  never  more  emphatic 
than  in  the  historic  calamity  of  this  prairie 
college.  The  repose  of  puritanic  ideas,  trans- 
planted directly  from  New  England,  is  seen 
mildly  disturbed  by  the  influences  of  modern 
scientific  education;  the  intensity  of  athletic 
strife  is  felt,  and  the  exultant  thrill  of  hardly- 
won  victory ;  even  the  pranks  of  students  upon 
faculty — so  much  more  terrible  in  this  "wild 
and  wooly  West"  than  in  the  Great  Eastern 
Universities ! — have  not  escaped  the  recording 
pen. 

While  the  writers  have  endeavored  to  give  a 
definite  artistic  unity  to  the  volume,  it  can  not 
be  expected  that  every  piece  will  satisfy  the 
fastidious,  in  style,  construction  or  subject. 
Perfection  in  short-story  writing  is  a  more 
difficult  attainment,  according  to  the  initiated, 
than  ordinary  success  in  the  novel.  The  un- 
dergraduate has  no  opportunity  for  the  ten 
years'apprenticeship  of  Maupassant  or  Bourget ; 
and  he  has  stronger  temptation  to  deny  free, 
original  expression  to  his  individuality,  than 


PREFATORY    NOTE.  Xlll 

one  of  his  own  age  unrestrained  by  the  con- 
ventions of  college  life. 

Nevertheless,  it  is  hoped  that  this  little  col- 
lection of  stories  may  arouse  attention,  ap- 
proval and  even  somewhat  of  serious  criticism, 
especially  among  progressive  teachers  of  liter- 
ature and  their  students.  To  such  hands  the 
writers  are  willing  to  entrust  their  fortunes, 
believing  that  interest  in  the  processes  of  art, 
as  of  life,  is  no  less  noble  than  the  delight  in 
ripened  fruits,  and  remembering  the  spirit  of 
the  poet  who  wrote: 

"They   are    perfect — how     else?     They    shall    never 

change: 
We  are  faulty — why  not?    We  have  time  in  store.  " 

Grixxell,  Iowa,  May  the  First,  1897. 


I. 

CO-EDUCATION. 


a  whole  gymnasium  in  itself  for  Milburn. 

Page  1' 


Two  Students  of  Science. 

i  fpHERE !  I  think  I'll  have  as  good  a  yield 
1  of  iodoform  as  anybody.  I  guess  I'll  rest 
my  nerves  a  little  while  that  stuff  settles;"  and 
casting  his  big  apron  aside  he  proceeded  to 
climb,  hand  over  hand,  up  a  vertical  iron 
water-pipe  which  ran  through  the  hall  just 
outside  the  laboratory  door.  The  pipe  was 
held  secure  in  its  place  by  a  joint  which  came 
in  contact  with  a  beam  overhead,  and  was 
known  by  the  chemistry  students  as  the 
"greased  pole,"  since  it  was  a  whole  gymna- 
sium in  itself  for  Milburn,  who  was  now  tak- 
ing exercise  on  it. 

Soon  he  appeared  again  in  the  door  and 
called,  "Say  Sister!  come  on  and  climb  the 
'greased  pole'  once,  it  will  do  you  good." 
Miss  Keller  had  received  a  similar  invitation 
several  times  before,  and  while  she  showed  no 
particular  signs  of  responding  to  it,  she  re- 
solved to  practice  the  exercise  in  the  Gymna- 

(17) 


18  ON   A   WESTEEN   CAMPUS. 

sium,  and  surprise  Milburn  by  performing  some- 
time when  she  was  dressed  in  her  tennis  suit. 
"I  can't  do  it  now,"  she  replied.  "Some 
time  when  I  have  my  bloomers  on  I'll  try  it." 
"Now  is  the  accepted  time,"  said  Hicks,  a 
young  man  working  at  qualitative  analysis  at 
the  end  of  the  room,  and  he  began  to  whistle, 
"Why  do  you  wait,  dear  brother?" 

Miss  Keller  was  the  only  girl  in  Hawkeye 
College  who  Avas  taking  advanced  work  in 
chemistry,  and  the  others  working  in  the  lab- 
oratory with  her  insisted  that  she  ought  to 
have  been  a  boy.  It  was  a  favorite  trick  of 
Milburn's  to  make  a  profound  bow  in  her 
direction  when  he  came  in  to  work  after  din- 
ner, and  say,  "Good  afternoon,  gentlemen!" 
It  was  now  nearly  three  years  since  they  began 
work  together  in  the  laboratory,  but  he 
had  not  yet  become  entirely  accustomed  to 
the  idea  of  a  girl  taking  a  science  for  a  major; 
or,  what  is  more  probable,  he  chose  to  make  it 
appear  that  the  idea  was  novel  to  him,  and 
though  he  usually  addressed  her  as  "Sister," 
he  enjoyed  referring  to  her  as  one  of  the  boys. 
When  he  had  been  in  the  beginning  class  with 


TWO    STUDENTS   OF   SCIENCE.  19 

her  and  she  had  told  him  that  her  majors  were 
chemistry  and  biology  he  had  quite  surprised 
her  by  saying,  "A  scientific  girl!  My  gra- 
cious! I  didn't  know  the  Lord  ever  made 
any." 

When  she  found  out  that  he  was  interested 
in  social  science,  and  lived  at  the  college  set- 
tlement, and  sometimes  preached  in  neighbor- 
ing school-houses  and  adjacent  villages,  she 
returned  his  surprise  by  saying:  "My  gra- 
cious! A  scientific  preacher !  I  didn't  know 
the  Lord  ever  made  any." 

They  evidently  regarded  each  other  as  curi- 
ous freaks,  and  from  that  moment  there  be- 
gan to  spring  up  between  them  a  strong  broth- 
erly and  sisterly  feeling. 

He  now  came  hurriedly  back  to  his  desk  and 
began  to  put  it  in  order.  It  was  nearly  four 
o'clock  and  he  wanted  to  play  tennis. 

"See  here,"  said  he  turning  to  Miss  Keller, 
"if  you  had  been  industrious,  you  might  have 
been  through  now,  and  had  time  to  play  ten- 
nis with  people  who  ivori."  He  said  this  with 
an  air  of  sternness  wholly  assumed  and  ran 
down  into  the  basement  to  put  on  his  sweater. 


20  OS   A    WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

He  soon  reappeared  bringing  a  roll  of  white 
cloth,  suggestive  of  a  white  shirt,  which  he 
thrust  into  a  drawer  under  his  table. 

A  young  man  appeared  in  the  door,  appar- 
ently waiting  for  Milburn  to  come  out  and 
play  with  him.  He  seemed  curious  to  know 
what  Miss  Keller  was  doing  with  the  two  glass 
tubes,  which  had  metric  scales  engraved  on 
their  sides.  They  were  held  by  clamps  in  a 
vertical  position  and  filled  with  some  colorless 
liquids.  Standing  beneath  their  lower  ends,  on 
the  white  tiling  of  the  table,  was  a  flask  filled 
with  another  liquid.  Miss  Keller  would  turn  the 
stopcock  on  one  of  the  tubes  and  let  a  few 
drops  into  the  flask  below,  the  contents  of 
which  would  change  from  colorless  to  red; 
then  letting  a  drop  or  two  fall  from  the  other 
it  would  lose  its  red  color.  Finally  dropping 
first  from  the  one  and  then  the  other,  a  single 
drop  tinged  the  liquid  with  a  faint  suggestion 
of  crimson  and  she  stopped.  Taking  a  little 
magnifying  glass  from  the  table  she  read  the 
fine  graduations  on  the  sides  of  the  tubes,  and 
found  how  much  of  the  liquid  she  had   used. 

The  young  man  looked  inquiringly,  and  Mil- 


TWO    STUDENTS    OF    SCIENCE.  21 

burn  explained,  assuming  the  most  profes- 
sorial of  airs  as  he  did  so:  "You  see  she  is 
trying  to  find  exactly  how  much  acid  there  is 
in  the  liquid  she  has  in  that  flask.  So  she 
puts  four  or  five  drops  of  some  stuff  into  it 
which  makes  it  turn  one  color  when  acid  and 
another  when  alkaline.  Now  she  fills  one  of 
those  tubes  which  are  called  burettes,  with  a 
standard  alkaline  solution  and  the  other  with 
a  standard  acid  solution,  each  of  which  con- 
tain a  known  amount  of  acid  or  alkali  to  the 
cubic  centimeter." 

"Young  man,  on  the  back  seat  there,  you 
may  either  pay  attention  to  this  recitation  or 
make  yourself  scarce!  Now  to  continue — she 
lets  the  alkali  mixture  in  until  the  liquid 
changes  color.  Then  she  lets  a  little  of  the 
acid  in  to  equalize  the  excessive  alkali,  and 
finally  she  gets  it  neutral.  Then  she  reads 
this  scale  and  finds  how  much  of  alkali  she 
has  used  in  excess  of  acid.  She  knows  how 
much  acid  each  fraction  of  alkali  will  neutra- 
lize, and  from  this,  figures  up  the  amount  of 
acid  present  in  the  whole  mixture.  Is  that 
perfectly  plain  to  you,  Lambert?     Very  well. 


22  ON    A    WESTEKN'   CAMPUS. 

Any  questions?  The  class  is  excused."  The 
two  young  men  were  soon  out  on  the  campus 
playing  tennis. 

"A  queer  fellow — that  Milburn  — ,"  said 
Hicks,  "I  used  to  know  him  in  Kansas  City. 
He  is  as  full  of  fun  as  the  old  Nick  himself, 
but  he  is  really  a  good  scientist  and  a 
thoroughly  careful  fellow  to  have  around  the 
laboratory." 

"Well  I'd  like  to  know,"  said  Smith,  a 
young  man  watching  for  the  contents  of  a 
crucible  to  fuse,  "if  a  fellow  oughtn't  to  be 
chuck  full  of  fun  crammed  down  and  running 
over,  if  he  expects  to  have  enough  left  in  him 
to  get  a  test  for  after  taking  such  a  study  as 
this.  Hang  this  old  crucible  of  stuff!  It's 
been  trying  this  whole  hour  to  fuse  and  hasn't 
succeeded  yet."  And  turning  quickly  he 
added,  "I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Keller,  but  I 
really  had  to  swear  or  do  something." 

Without  looking  up  from  her  flask  she  re- 
plied, "0  you  shall  be  pardoned,  certainly,  so 
long  as  you  confine  yourself  to  such  mild 
profanity  under  such  aggravating  circum- 
stances.    You  are  really  improving." 


TWO    STUDENTS    OF   SCIENCE.  23 

Smith  began  to  talk  again:  "That  man 
Milburn  is  good  too,  mighty  good  for  a  chem- 
ist. A  man  is  always  bad  and  impious  if  he 
studies  chemistry,  especially  if  that  man  hap- 
pens to  be  a  woman. "  (The  girl  gave  him  a 
withering  glance.)  "But  Milburn  isn't  a  girl 
so  it  isn't  so  surprising  that  he  amounts  to 
something.  He  spends  oceans  of  time  in  that 
college  settlement." 

"Some  say,"  said  Hicks,  "that  he  does  it  to 
continue  his  biological  studies  and  that  he  is 
taking  the  human  worm  as  his  specimen." 

Miss  Keller  looked  up  quickly.  "Yes,  some 
may  say  it,"  said  she,  "but  I  don't  believe  that 
it  is  his  principal  motive  now,  though  it  may 
have  been  in  the  first  place.  I  think  it  would 
be  a  worthy  enough  one  if  it  were." 

"You  think  it  is  all  right,  do  you,"  said 
Hicks,  "to  study  people  over  with  no  other 
motive  than  that?  I  don't  believe  I'd  enjoy 
being  a  specimen  for  your  college-house 
freaks." 

The  girl  smiled  and  looked  up.  "All 
classes  of  people  are  the  subjects  of  study  for 
the  social  scientists,  your  own  class  included," 


24  ON   A    WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

said  she.  "People  cannot  be  helped  or  help 
each  other  to  higher  planes  of  existence  unless 
the  facts  regarding  present  conditions  are 
known." 

"Well,  I  suppose,"  said  Hicks,  "that  some 
facts  are  necessary,  but  it  looks  like  a  cold- 
blooded way  of  going  after  them,  if  that  is  his 
only  motive.  I  didn't  expect  you  were  going  to 
be  so  eloquent  on  the  subject  of  sociology." 

"I  didn't  say  it  was  his  only  motive,"  she 
replied,  "but  if  facts  are  useful,  then  the  find- 
ing of  them  by  honest  scientific  methods  is  a 
worthy  occupation.  He  is  really  trying  to 
help  the  people  around  him  while  he  is  gain- 
ing knowledge  from  studying  them." 

"That's  right!  Stick  up  for  him,"  said 
Hicks. 

"You  ought  to  see  him  at  the  settlement 
Sunday-school,"  said  she.  "He  teaches  a 
class  and  does  it  sensibly,  too.  I  attended 
one  Sunday  when  a  young  man  asked  him  if 
he  believed  Aaron's  rod  really  changed  into  a 
snake  and  then  back  again,  and  he  replied  with- 
out pause,  that  he  did  not." 

"What  in  the  name  of  Jericho  did  he  say  to 


TWO    STUDENTS    OF    SCIENCE.  25 

him?"  asked  Hicks.  "Tell  him  that  the 
Bible  is  a  fraud  and  that  he  had  better  follow 
the  Koran?" 

"Hardly.  He  told  them  that  this  story  was 
really  only  a  poetic  way  of  expressing  the  in- 
fluence that  a  good  man  like  Aaron  had  over 
ignorant  and  evil-minded  people ;  and  that  it 
was  included  in  the  collection  of  the  sacred 
writings  of  the  Jews,  which  we  call  the  Old 
Testament.  Then  he  told  them  something 
about  the  way  in  which  the  Bible  was  com- 
piled. Now  that's  what  I  call  scientific. 
The  scientific  spirit  is  pervading  everything 
and  we  are  beginning  to  study  literature,  last 
of  all,  scientifically." 

"Great  Scott!"  said  Hicks,  "what  a  beast 
you're  making  of  science.  You're  letting  it 
eat  up  the  universe.  I  guess  I'll  prepare  my- 
self to  be  swallowed." 

"Never  you  worry,"  said  she,  "the  carni- 
vora  don't  eat  raw  cabbage."  Hicks  took  the 
laugh  that  followed  with  good  grace,  and  ap- 
peared to  be  squelched.  Miss  Keller  con- 
tinued: "Milburn  is  going  at  religion  scien- 
tifically."    Hicks  interrupted  again. 


26  OX   A    WESTEKN   CAMPUS. 

"Good  gracious!  Keligion  is  going  to  be 
swallowed  too.  That  carniverous  beast  will 
have  to  have  as  many  stomachs  as  a  cow. 
He'd  have  an  awful  fit  of  indigestion  if  he 
got  Miss  Keller  and  religion  in  the  same 
stomach."  The  remark  was  greeted  with 
groans  but  he  did  not  mind  it.  He  was  used  to 
it. 

"There  are  some  people,"  said  Miss  Keller, 
who  believe  Mr.  Milburn  is  dangerous,  but  he 
is  doing  good.  Some  of  the  rest  of  us  un- 
orthodox people  might  well  follow  his  ex- 
ample. ' ' 

"Well,  by  all  the  symbols  in  the  chemical 
dictionary!  or  anything  else  you  cold-blooded 
investigators  hold  to  be  sacred  and  inviolate^ 
I  declare  that  old  Milburn  has  a  firm  friend  in 
Miss  Keller,"  exclaimed  Hicks.  "As  for  me, 
I've  got  enough  of  this  scientific  business  and 
if  I  don't  flunk  at  the  end  of  the  semester  I'll 
quit  you  people.  Three  semesters  are  enough 
for  me — plenty !  I  don't  see  how  in  the  world 
you  third  year  people  managed  to  survive  at 
all.  My  health  is  failing  awfully  fast  and  my 
youth  is  fading  as  a  flower." 


TWO    STUDENTS   OF   SCIENCE.  27 

"Sunflower,"  suggested  Smith. 

Hicks  walked  up  to  the  board  where  the 
Professor  posted  special  directions.  He  took 
one  look  and  then  began  to  rub  his  eyes. 
"Well  by  all  the  oxides  of  lead  and  manga- 
nese !  Look  here,  Sister  Keller,  you  had  bet- 
ter read  this  before  you  stick  up  for  him  again. 
It's  very  pretty  in  you,  but  look  at  the  base 
ingratitude  of  the  fellow.  This  is  his  doing 
sure."  A  small  group  gathered  around  the 
place  and  read  the  following  equation  in  Mil- 
burn's  well-known  handwriting: 

' ' Keller  -f  Smith  +  (Hicks) 2=l-2  man. ' ' 

At  half  past  five  Miss  Keller  and  Hicks 
were  the  only  ones  remaining  in  the  labora- 
tory. Milburn  came  rushing  through  the 
room  and  dashed  down  into  the  basement  to 
change  his  clothes  for  supper,  evidently  for- 
getting in  his  haste,  that  his  coat  hung  in  the 
laboratory  above,  and  that  his  shirt  was  in  a 
drawer  under  his  table.  After  a  time  his  voice 
was  heard  calling,  "Hicks!  0,  Hicks!  Come 
to  the  head  of  the  stairs  a  minute." 

Hicks  obeyed,  taking  his  time  about  it. 


28  ON    A    "WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

"Say  Hicks,  please  bring  my  shirt  down 
here,  will  you?  It's  in  the  lower  east  drawer 
below  my  table." 

"Well  you  lazy  pup,"  said  Hicks,  "I  can't 
see  why  you  don't  wait  on  yourself.  Don't 
you  know  that  my  time  is  valuable?  If  you 
call  me  out  here  and  make  me  this  much 
trouble  again  it  will  go  bad  with  you." 

"Why  you  blooming  idiot!  don't  you  see 
that  I've  got  my  sweater  off  and  it's  so  wet 
that  I  can't  get  it  on  again,  or  at  least  I 
won't  just  after  taking  a  bath?" 

"You  won't,  eh,  well  perhaps  you  won't." 

"You're  going  to  get  my  shirt  for  me  now 
aren't  you,  old  boy?  That's  a  nice  old  fel- 
low!" 

"No,  I  can't  say  I  have  any  such  charitable 
intentions.  I'll  have  to  go  back  into  the 
lab,  and  think  it  over  anyway."  And  he 
went  back. 

"0  Miss  Keller!  Sister!"  shouted Milburn. 
"How  long  before  you're  going  home?" 

"About  half  an  hour,"  she  called  back. 

"Well,  but  somebody  will  be  eating  up  my 
sauce  at  the  club." 


TWO    STUDENTS   OF   SCIENCE.  29 

"I  don't  see  what  I've  got  to  do  with  your 
being  late  to  your  supper  or  with  your  sauce." 

"  You  don't,  eh?     I  wish  you'd  go  home." 

"I  don't  see  why." 

"I  want  to  come  up  there  after  something." 

"I  have  no  intention  of  making  a  meal  of 
you." 

"You'd  find  him  good  and  tough  if  you 
did,"  said  Hicks. 

"Say,  sister,  you  go  home!" 

"I  won't  do  it." 

"Say,  do  you  remember  that  date  you  have 
with  me  for  the  ball  game  to-morrow?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I'll  break  it  if  you  don't  go  home." 

"0  Milburn,  don't!" 

"I  will  though;  I  can't  possibly  go,  if  you 
keep  me  down  here  all  night." 

"I'm  not  keeping  you  down  there." 

"You  aren't,  eh?  Why,  good  gracious, 
young  lady,  if  you  must  know  it,  there's  a 
part  of  my  raiment  in  the  lab  that  I  must 
have  before  I'm  presentable  in  your  august 
presence." 

"0,  that's  it.     That's  a  good  one  on  you. 


30  ON   A    WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

I  think  you  have  no  one  to  blame  but  yourself. 
It  will  give  you  a  chance  to  reflect  on  your 
numerous  sins." 

"How  can  a  fellow  reflect  on  his  sins  when 
he  is  mortally  sure  that  some  one  is  eating  up 
his  sauce?     0  my  sauce!     My  sauce!" 

"It  will  give  you  a  perfectly  splendid  chance 
to  learn  to  be  calm  under  misfortune." 

"You  folks  seem  to  bear  up  wonderfully  un- 
der my  misfortune.  Say!  I've  found  the 
nitro-glycerine  C.  P.  bottle  down  here,  and 
I'm  going  to  set  it  off  if  you  don't  go  into  the 
balance  room  and  shut  the  door  a  minute." 

"That's  all  right,"  shouted  Hicks.  "  We're 
above  the  blamed  thing  and  it  will  send  us 
right  up  to  glory,  but  may  the  Lord  have 
mercy  on  your  soul.  Your  shirt  is  up  here 
and  that  will  probably  go  along  with  us." 

"Say,  sister,  you  go  into  the  balance  room  a 
minute  and  shut  the  door." 

"Can't  afford  the  time." 

"Yes,  you  are  awfully  pressed  for  time. 
I've  a  notion  to  come  up  there  just  as  I  am." 

"Come  on,"  shouted  Hicks,  "put  rings  in 


TWO    STUDENTS   OF   SCIENCE.  31 

your  ears  and  a  coat  of  paint  on  your  body  and 
pass  yourself  off  for  a  Musquakee  Indian." 

"Say,  sister,  I'm  coming  up  there  and 
you'd  better  leave.  I  can  just  see  that  old 
'Bones'  eating  my  sauce  now.  He  always 
does  if  I  am  late.  Whoopy!  Here  I  come!" 
Two  noisy  feet  were  heard  coming  up  the  stairs 
at  a  lively  rate.  Miss  Keller,  womanlike, 
sacrificing  science  to  propriety,  fled  to  the 
balance  room  and  Milburn,  triumphant, 
skipped  back  bearing  his  indispensable  apparel 
with  him. 


Miss  Aylesworth's  Friend. 

ON  SCHEDULED  time  the  train  came 
rushing  in  as  if  impelled  by  the  eagerness 
of  the  new  students  to  reach  this  Elysium  of 
their  dreams.  The  bell  rang  out  clear  and  loud. 
It  seemed  vieing  with  the  hearty  yells  which 
arose  from  the  throng  assembled  on  the  plat- 
form. They  were  nearly  all  students  who  had 
come  back  a  day  early  to  visit  with  old  chums 
and  to  give  the  new  arrivals  a  cordial  welcome. 
When  the  train  stopped  a  few  boys  and 
girls  wearing  badges,  which  at  once  identified 
them  as  the  new  student  committee,  pressed 
forward  to  greet  the  strangers.  As  one  after 
another  appeared,  he  was  instantly  relieved  of 
his  luggage  with  such  sincere  welcome  that  he 
began  unconsciously  to  imbibe  the  college 
spirit.  Now  came  a  girl  more  attractive  than 
the  rest.  She  was  tall  and  graceful.  Her  fall 
traveling  suit  became  her  well.  She  had  a 
vivacious  and  dignified  manner  that  was  truly 

(33) 


34  ON    A    "WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

fascinating.  She  attracted  the  attention  of  a 
group  of  boys  standing  a  little  aside  and  sur- 
veying each  new  comer  critically. 

"There's  an  all-right  girl.  I  say,  fellows, 
guess  I'll  try  my  luck.  Glad  I  swiped  this 
committee  badge  now.  I  thought  I  might 
need  it,"  and  leaving  the  group,  Leland  Cur- 
tis was  at  her  side  in  a  moment.  His  badge 
served  as  an  introduction  and  without  fur- 
ther ceremony,  lifting  his  hat,  he  asked  to 
carry  her  grip. 

"My  name  is  Leland  Curtis." 

"And  mine,  Frances  Wallace,"  she  answered 
brightly. 

"Now  if  you  will  give  me  your  checks,  I'll 
see  to  your  baggage.    You  wish  it  sent  to —  ?" 

"Mears  Cottage,  please.  You  are  very 
kind." 

He  was  off  and  back  in  a  twinkling,  giving 
the  boys  a  triumphant  wink  in  passing.  As 
they  started  off  down  the  street,  the  boys  cast 
envious  glances  after  them. 

"Why  didn't  I  have  the  nerve  to  do  that?" 
said  one  regretfully. 

"He  has  a  good  eye,  Curtis  has.     I'll  wager 


MISS  aylesworth's  friend.  35 

my  hat  against  a  piece  of  chalk  that  they'll 
head  the  list  of  solid  couples  this  year,"  said 
a  second,  with  the  air  of  one  who  knew  all 
the  mysteries  of  a  solid  couple  arrangement. 

"Gertrude  Manning  is  in  her  element  now," 
remarked  another  admiringly. 

They  looked  back  toward  the  train.  A 
severely  plain,  modest  looking  girl  had  just 
appeared.  She  was  not  in  the  least  attractive 
at  first  glance.  Then  one  noticed  a  sensitive, 
almost  childish  expression  that  was  truly  ap- 
pealing. She  seemed  timid  and  the  sea  of 
strange  faces  bewildered  her.  It  was  then 
that  Gertrude  Manning  left  the  merry  circle 
of  friends  and  came  eagerly  forward. 

"How  do  you  do?  You  have  come  to  be 
one  of  us  I  know,"  she  said  in  her  own  charm- 
ing way.  "Let  me  help  you  with  your 
bundles."  A  very  grateful  look  lighted  up 
the  face  of  the  new  girl  as  Miss  Manning  took 
everything  into  her  own  hands. 

"Now  Miss  Hampton,  I  think  we  are  ready 
to  go.  It's  just  a  pleasant  walk  to  your  new 
home.  Let's  see,  you  said  your  home  is  in 
Auburn,   didn't  you?     I  wonder  if  you  hap- 


36  ON"   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

pen  to  know  Miss  Aylesworth  there?  I  met 
her  at  Lake  Geneva  last  summer." 

"Miss  Aylesworth!  Oh,  do  you  know  her? 
She  persuaded  me  to  come  here."  And 
Emma  Hampton  felt  her  loneliness  depart 
at  once;  she  had  found  some  one  who  knew 
some  one  she  knew. 

"You  see,"  she  went  on,  "she  wanted  me 
to  come  and  my  folks  couldn't  afford  to  send 
me.  I  always  liked  music  and  she  thought  I 
had  such  a  good  voice  that  she  wanted  me  to 
have  it  trained.  So  she  wrote  down  here  and 
found  this  place  for  me  at  Mrs.  Shakelford's. 
I  can  help  with  the  housework  and  the  chil- 
dren for  my  room  and  board,  and  my  folks  can 
do  the  rest.     It  was  all  her  plan." 

"That's  splendid.  I'm  glad  you  have  come 
and  I  hope  you'll  soon  feel  at  home  among 
us."  AVhen  they  reached  the  house  she  was 
already  in  love  with  the  college  and  wondered 
if  every  one  were  like  Miss  Manning. 

In  the  meantime,  Leland  Curtis  Avas  walking 
slowly  with  Miss  Wallace  toward  Mears  Cot- 
tage. They  reached  there  all  too  soon,  so  he 
thought,   in  spite  of  the  fact   that    he    had 


MISS  aylesworth's  friend.  37 

taken  her  the  longest  possible  way  around, 
and  he  was  forced  to  give  her  up  to  the  ten- 
der mercies  of  Miss  Dorcas,  the  matron  of  the 
Cottage.  He  was  exceedingly  suspicious  of 
that  lady's  mercies.  He  knew  her  of  old. 
When  he  was  a  sporty  Freshman  he  had  been 
devoted  to  a  gay  little  miss  who  lived  there, 
and  he  had  always  felt  responsible  for  a  good 
share  of  Miss  Dorcas'  gray  hair  and  numerous 
wrinkles. 

That  night  on  senior  floor  some  of  the  girls 
congregated  to  talk  over  the  possibilities  of  the 
new  girls.  "Oh!  have  you  met  Miss  Wal- 
lace?" 

"Yes,  isn't  she  swell?" 

"Isn't  she  dear!" 

"She's  simply  fine." 

"We  may  count  on  her  for  basket-ball. 
She's  played  a  good  deal,  she  says." 

"We  must  rush  her  for  society  too,"  said  a 
literary  enthusiast,  the  President  of  Calo- 
cagathia. 

"Did  you  see  who  brought  her  up  to-night?" 

"WTho?"  sounded  a  chorus  of  curious  voices. 

"Leland  Curtis." 


38  OX    A    WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

"He  did.  Well  that's  lucky.  I'm  glad  he 
happened  to  get  her.  It  will  give  her  a  good 
impression  of  our  youths." 

"That's  right.  Mr.  Curtis  is  the  best  all- 
around  boy  in  college." 

"Listen!  What's  that?"  and  the  chatter 
ceased  in  an  instant. 

"Lady  Dorcas  started  on  her  nightly  pil- 
grimage," said  one  whose  ears  were  trained  to 
listen  for  those  warning  sounds. 

"Well,  let's  adjourn.  All  in  favor  please 
signify  by  leaving;"  and  a  half  dozen  girls 
stole  quietly  down  the  hall  to  their  rooms  and 
retired  silently  by  moonlight. 

The  next  day  brought  the  inevitable  regis- 
tering, the  arranging  of  schedules,  conflicts  to 
be  straightened  out,  books  to  be  bought, 
trunks  to  be  unpacked,  rooms  to  be  settled ; 
an  endless  list  to  the  poor  Freshmen.  But 
the  college  machinery  was  soon  in  order  and 
all  thought  was  turned  to  Friday  night.  Then 
came  the  grand  reception,  when  everyone 
meets  everyone  else — and  in  the  morning 
knows  no  one. 

Miss  Wallace  was  the  belle  of  the  evening. 


MISS  ayleswokth's  fkiend.  39 

She  was  beautifully  gowned  and  most  becom- 
ingly, the  rich,  heavy  silk  setting  off  her 
fine  figure  well.  Her  fluffy,  golden-brown 
hair  waved  back  from  her  forehead  bewitch- 
ingly,  and  her  dancing  brown  eyes  were  irre- 
sistible. All  the  boys  were  devoted,  and  the 
girls,  envious.  Mr.  Curtis  thought  he  had  an 
especial  claim  to  her  attention  and  she  seemed 
to  find  the  claim  not  irksome. 

Miss  Manning  was  there,  looking  as  sweet 
and  charming  as  ever.  She  was  piloting 
Emma  Hampton  through  the  company,  intro- 
ducing her  to  old  and  new  students,  and  mak- 
ing her  forget  that  her  skirt  was  not  the  latest 
cut  and  that  her  waist  was  made  from  an  old 
one  of  her  mother's. 

"Mr.  Curtis,  have  you  met  Miss  Hamp- 
ton?" she  said,  as  Leland  came  to  speak  to 
her. 

"I  believe  not.  I'm  glad  to  meet  you,  Miss 
Hampton.  Hampton,"  he  repeated  thought- 
fully. "Oh!  are  you  from  Auburn?  A  friend 
wrote  me  of  a  Miss  Hampton  who  Avas  coming 
from  there." 

"Yes,"  and  she  hesitated  a  moment,  look- 


40  ON    A    WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

iug  at  him  closely.  Then  with  a  look  of  eager 
interest,  "Is  your  friend  Miss  Aylesworth? 
Why  of  course,  and  you  are  that  Mr.  Curtis." 

"Why  that  Mr.  Curtis?"  he  asked  laugh- 
ing. 

"Why  the  Mr.  Curtis  I've  heard  so  much 
about.  I  have  learned  to  know  Miss  Ayles- 
worth well  and  she's  done  so  much  for  me." 

Curtis'  smile  was  credulous  and  happy. 
"She  wrote  me  that  you  sing  a  good  deal.  Is 
your  work  all  in  the  Conservatory?" 

"No,  I  have  some  college  work  too.  I 
can't  sing  much,  but  I  like  to." 

Miss  Manning  just  then  turned  to  her 
charge  to  introduce  another  friend.  So  the 
evening  wore  away.  Emma  was  happy  to  have 
met  Mr.  Curtis  so  soon,  and  although  she  was 
very  critical,  for  in  her  eyes  no  one  could  be 
too  good  for  Alice  Aylesworth,  she  really  quite 
approved  of  him. 

The  next  day  every  one  spoke  to  every  one 
he  cared  to,  taking  it  for  granted  they  had  met 
at  the  reception.  Then  work  began  in  earn- 
est and  all  were  busy. 

Things  ran  smoothly  and  uneventfully  dur- 


MISS  aylesworth's  friend.  41 

ing  the  fall  term,  the  monotony  only  relieved 
by  a  foot-ball  game  now  and  then,  a  class 
party,  a  lecture  or  concert  in  the  Y.  M.  C. 
A.  course.  The  fall  days  were  perfect.  The 
air  was  fresh  and  invigorating.  But  the 
evenings,  the  moonlight  evenings,  were  simply 
irresistible  to  all  except  the  "grinds."  It 
was  considered  an  act  of  total  depravity  to 
study  before  eight  o'clock  at  least,  and  all 
sorts  of  schemes  were  concocted  for  prolong- 
ing recreation  hours.  And  so  the  solid 
couples  began  to  develop,  some  slowly,  some 
more  rapidly,  and  were  watched  very  eagerly 
One  especially  seemed  to  interest  everybody, 
probably  because  of  the  prominence  of  the  two 
parties,  Frances  Wallace  and  Leland  Curtis. 

Emma  Hampton  was  the  keenest  observer  of 
all,  but  no  one  knew  it.  People  wondered 
why  Curtis  took  so  much  notice  of  that  plain 
little  girl.  For  Alice's  sake  he  had  taken 
especial  care  to  be  kind  to  her.  Then  she  was 
a  droll  little  piece,  interesting  in  her  way, 
and  he  did  not  mind  giving  up  an  evening  to 
her  now  and  thea.  She  did  have  a  sweet 
voice  and  he  liked  to  hear  her  sing.     She  felt 


42  ON   A    WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

grateful  to  him.  She  liked  him.  He  was  as 
gallant  to  her  as  he  was  to  Miss  Wallace.  But 
above  all,  because  Alice  cared  for  him,  he  in- 
terested her  especially.  But  she  did  not  like 
his  marked  attention  to  Miss  Wallace.  It  was 
beginning  to  irritate  her  to  see  them  together. 
When  she  shyly  intimated  as  much,  Curtis 
would  say,  in  defense  of  himself,  "You  see, 
Miss  Wallace  is  an  awfully  nice  girl.  She's 
lots  of  fun  to  go  with  and  Alice  doesn't  mind. 
You  know  it's  my  last  year  and  I  Avant  to 
make  the  most  of  it." 

Miss  Wallace  confessed  to  herself  that  Le- 
land  Curtis  was  a  mighty  fine  fellow.  He  was 
really  the  only  boy  in  college  whose  attentions 
she  cared  to  accept.  But  she  did  not  care  for 
him.  She  thought  too  much  of  some  one  else, 
as  semi-weekly  letters,  written  and  received, 
showed.  However,  it  takes  but  little  to 
weave  a  romance  about  two  names  in  a  col- 
lege town  and  soon  people  declared  that  they 
must  be  engaged.  "Why  if  they're  not,  they 
ought  to  be,"  said  one  jealous  little  minx, 
who  had  tried  herself  to  fascinate  that  popu- 
lar fellow  and  had  found  him  incorrigible. 


MISS  ayleswoeth's  friend.  43 

"They  walk  together,  they  ride  together, 
on  moonlight  nights  they  go  strolling,  on 
stormy  nights  they  sit  in  the  parlor  and  talk. 
I'm  sure  I  can't  imagine  what  they  find  to 
talk  about  all  the  time.  Then  he  takes  her 
to  all  the  receptions  and  concerts.  I'd  like 
to  know  what  more  is  needed  to  make  them 
engaged.  I  wouldn't  go  with  one  boy  so 
much,  not  even  with  Leland  Curtis.  I  think 
it's  horrid." 

"Sour  grapes,"  retorted  her  room-mate. 
She  was  just  beginning  to  know  the  bliss  of 
having  a  youth  always  on  hand,  of  being  sure 
of  an  invitation  to  everything;  not  obliged  to 
wait  in  awful  suspense  till  the  last  minute  and 
then  buy  her  own  ticket  and  go  with  a  crowd 
of  girls. 

"Why  will  Leland  be  so  devoted  to  that 
Miss  AVallace?  I  don't  think  he  should  go 
with  girls  at  all  since  Alice  isn't  here,"  mused 
Emma  Hampton.  "I  can't  bear  to  see  him 
with  any  girl  now.  Of  course  it's  different 
for  him  to  come  to  see  me,  because  I  know  all 
about  it,  and  it's  only  for  her  sake  that  he 
comes,  or  that  I  care  to  have  him  come.     If 


44  ON   A    WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

she  were  only  here,  everything  would  be  all 
right." 

But  as  the  year  wore  away,  Emma  felt  a 
growing  uneasiness.  She  could  not  tell  what 
it  was  exactly.  It  seemed  to  have  developed 
unconsciously.  Was  it  that  college  life  had 
shown  her  so  much  of  which  it  seemed  she 
could  never  be  a  part?  Was  it  because  she 
had  seen  such  a  contrast  between  herself  and 
other  girls?  No.  She  had  been  happy  in  her 
college  life  and  college  work.  She  had  found 
some  very  dear  friends  among  the  girls.  Ger- 
trude Manning  had  proved  a  friend  indeed. 
Her  cordial  welcome  had  shown  itself  to  be 
sincere  and  had  lasted  through  the  year.  She 
had  done  well  in  her  music.  Everyone 
praised  her  voice.  What  was  it?  Alice  had 
become  dearer  than  ever  to  her  in  their  cor- 
respondence. Mr.  Curtis  was  so  good  to  her. 
Ah !  was  that  it?  At  the  thought  of  him  her 
heart  throbbed.  She  knew  that  when  he  was 
there  she  was  happiest  and  that  when  he  had 
gone  she  was  most  restless.  She  knew 
that  his  approval  of  her  voice  meant  more  to 
her  than  the  praise  of  her  instructor.     She 


MISS    AYLESWORTli'S    FRIEND.  45 

never  sang  so  well  for  other  people  as  she 
sang  for  him.  She  found  herself  looking  for- 
ward too  eagerly  to  his  occasional  calls.  But 
she  convinced  herself  that  it  was  only  because 
she  was  a  little  homesick  and  he  always  drove 
away  the  blues.  Then  she  could  talk  of  Alice 
and  find  a  ready  listener. 

But  when  she  knew  he  was  coming  she 
finished  her  work  in  half  the  usual  time.  She 
was  cross  to  the  children  if  they  interrupted  her 
reveries.  What  should  she  wear,  she  queried. 
To  be  sure  she  had  not  much  from  which 
to  choose,  but  she  could  put  a  fancy  collar 
on  her  prettiest  gown,  and  she  could  do  up 
her  hair  more  becomingly.  Would  he  notice 
it,  she  wondered.  She  arranged  her  hair  a 
half  dozen  times,  decided  which  side  looked 
the  better  and  planned  to  sit  so  he  would  see 
that  side. 

Then  she  stopped  to  think.  What  was  she 
doing?  It  was  all  foolishness.  She  was 
ashamed  of  herself.  But  no — she  was  plain  at 
best.  He  came  only  from  a  sense  of  duty,  she 
told  herself  at  such  times,  and  she  must 
make  that  duty  as  pleasant  as  possible.     Le- 


46  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

land  noticed  a  change  in  the  girl.  She  seemed 
really  growing  pretty.  How  much  good  col- 
lege life  was  doing  her.  Then  his  thoughts 
turned  to  Alice  as  the  cause  of  it  all. 

Commencement  week  was  coming  fast,  with 
all  its  festivities.  Everybody  was  planning 
for  it.  So  many  visitors  were  coming. 
Commencement  concert  was  to  be  the  event. 

In  due  time  Frances  AYallace  received  a 
note  from  Mr.  Curtis,  asking  for  her  com- 
pany. She  did  not  hesitate  to  accept  his  in- 
vitation. She  expected  it.  Of  course  he 
would  ask  her.  As  she  finished  the  note  of 
acceptance,  the  servant  came  to  the  door  with 
the  mail.  She  took  it  eagerly.  It  was  time 
for  a  semi-weekly. 

"What,"  she  exclaimed  aloud,  "Harold 
coming!  Yes,"  and  she  read  on.  "I  find  I 
have  to  make  a  short  business  trip  down  your 
way  next  week,  and  I've  planned  to  be  with 
you  Tuesday  and  Wednesday. "  "  Oh !  its  too 
good  to  be  true,"  she  cried  in  ecstasy.  "What 
perfect  bliss,  and  he'll  be  here  for  the  concert ! 
What  luck  I  hadn't  sent  that  note  to  Leland. 
I  guess  I'd  best  write  another  one."     Then 


MISS  ayleswokth's  fkiend.  47 

she  grew  sober  for  an  instant.  "But  poor  Le- 
land.  It's  cruel  to  desert  him  now.  I'm 
afraid  he's  learned  to  care  for  me.  But  this 
will  open  his  eyes,  and  oh !  how  can  I  wait  till 
Tuesday." 

Meanwhile  Curtis  was  awaiting  Frances' 
reply.  Hearing  the  small  errand  boy  of  the 
house  coming  down  the  hall  to  his  room,  he 
thought  he  might  have  the  desired  missive. 
"I  say,  bub,  did  you  bring  me  any  mail?" 
"Yes,  one.  Seems  to  me  they  come  pretty 
often  nowadays.  I  brought  you  one  just  like 
that  yesterday." 

"Well,  what's  it  to  you?     Give  it  to  me." 
He  snatched  the  letter  hastily.     It  was  post- 
marked "Auburn."    "Funny,  I  must  say,  she 
should  write  so  soon.     H'm,  it's  just  a  note," 
he  said  as  he  tore  it  open. 

My  Dear, — 

I  haven't  time  to  write  but  a  line,  but  I 
have  the  jolliest  news  to  tell.  I've  decided  at 
the  last  minute  to  come  down  for  commence- 
ment. Isn't  that  great?  Now  don't  tell  Le- 
land,  not  one  word.     Won't  it  be  a  surprise, 


48  OX    A    WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

though!     Meet    me    Tuesday    P.    M.,  dear. 
Good-bye  till  then. 

With  lots  of  love, 

Alice  A . 

Auburn,  Tuesday,  the  Fourteenth. 

"How  in  thunder  did  this  come  to  me?  It 
must  be  meant  for  Miss  Hampton.  She  must 
have  mistaken  the  envelope  in  her  excitement. 
Good  joke.  'Don't  tell  Leland,'  oh  no. 
'Won't  it  be  a  surprise  though?'  "  and  he 
laughed  outright.  "Tuesday,  just  in  time  for 
the  concert.  But  mister !  Hang  it  all,  any- 
way! I've  asked  Frances  to  go.  What  in 
thunder  shall  I  do!  I  can't  break  my  date 
now.  She  hasn't  accepted  yet,  but  of  course 
she  will.     I've  got  my  foot  in  it  now." 

"Mr.  Curtis,"  called  his  landlady,  "here  is 
a  note  for  you." 

"All  right.  Thank  you,"  he  replied,  as  he 
went  to  the  stairs  to  get  it.  He  recognized 
Frances'  dashing  hand  at  once.  "I  know  just 
what  she'll  say  without  opening  it,"  he 
thought.  But  he  slowly  tore  it  open.  His 
expression  changed  from  perplexity  to  amaze- 
ment as  he  read: 


MISS  aylesworth's  friend.  49 

My  Dear  Mr.  Curtis, — 

Let  me  thank  you  for  your  kind  invitation 
to  the  concert,   but  a   previous   engagement 
makes  it  impossible  for  me  to  accept. 
Most  sincerely, 

Frances  Wallice. 
Wednesday,  June  fifteenth. 

Curtis  was  puzzled.  "I'd  like  to  know 
what  that  means.  Pd  like  to  know  who  has 
asked  her,  or  whom  she'd  go  with  but  me," 
he  thought,  astounded.  "But  then,  that  let's 
me  out  all  right.  Yet  I  would  like  to  know 
who  has  had  the  audacity  to  ask  her." 

Leland,  being  a  Senior  and  a  very  important 
one,  was  so  busy  the  next  few  days  that  he 
found  it  impossible  to  get  around  to  see  Fran- 
ces, but  everybody  must  know  how  busy  he 
was,  he  thought. 

Tuesday  came  at  last.  He  found  himself 
at  the  station  early.  Finally  he  heard  the 
whistle  and  his  heart  beat  fast.  He  watched 
the  people  closely.  Then  he  caught  sight  of 
Alice.  She  seemed  looking  for  some  one  and 
a  shade  of  disappointment  came  over  her  face 
as  she  looked  in  vain.  When  she  stepped  off 
he  rushed  up  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 


50  ON    A    WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

"Well  this  is  a  surprise,  Alice." 

"Why  Leland  Curtis,  how  did  you  know  I 
was  coming?  I  didn't  write  to  you,  did  I, 
and  who  told  you?" 

"Nobody  told  me  but  yourself." 

"But  I  didn't  tell  you." 

"No,  you  didn't  mean  to." 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Leland?" 

"Well,  I  imagine  perhaps  Miss  Hampton 
didn't  get  her  regular  letter  last  week,  and 
maybe  I  got  two." 

"You  don't  mean  that  I  made  a  mistake  in 
the  envelope!" 

"It  would  look  that  way  to  an  outsider. 
But  who  cares?  You're  here  now,  dear,  and 
its  awfully  good  to  see  you,  little  girl." 

Curious  eyes  and  busy  tongues  were  soon  at 
work.  The  same  eyes  that  saw  Curtis  there 
to  meet  a  young  lady,  saw  Miss  Wallace  there 
to  meet  a  young  man  at  an  earlier  train. 
What  more  was  needed  to  send  Dame  Rumor 
stalking  through  the  college  town? 

Alice  took  a  few  minutes  to  run  up  to  see 
her  friend.  She  was  taken  completely  by  sur- 
prise and  an  explanation  was  in  order.     Then 


MISS  ayleswoeth's  friend.  51 

came  the  usual  messages  from  home  and  the 
innumerable  questions  about  "the  folks." 

"But  Emma,  how  pretty  you  look.  It's 
done  my  little  girl  good  to  come  to  college," 
she  said,  giving  her  an  affectionate  kiss. 
"What  were  you  reading?"  she  added,  seeing 
a  book  in  her  hand.  "This  is  one  of  Leland's, 
I  know;  it's  an  old  favorite  of  his."  Emma 
started  and  her  face  flushed.  She  had  for- 
gotten for  the  moment. 

"But  isn't  he  the  dearest  boy,  Emma? 
Now  say  he  is.  You  must  love  him  too  by 
this  time,"  she  ran  on  in  her  ardent,  girlish 
way,  too  happy  to  notice  any  change  in  her 
friend.  Emma  faltered  an  instant,  then  she 
controlled  herself  at  once.  Alice  should  see 
nothing  of  her  feeling.  "Yes,  he  is  very  nice. 
Oh!  you  must  be  so  happy,"  she  broke  out 
again  passionately. 

"I  am,  but  he's  waiting  for  me  and  I 
must  go.  But  you  haven't  sung  for  me  yet. 
Come  now  and  sing,  won't  you?  Why  what's 
the  matter,  dear?  Are  you  afraid  to  sing  be- 
fore Leland?  You  look  as  if  I'd  asked  a  most 
dreadful  thing  of  you." 


52  ON    A    WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

"Oh!  I  can't,"  she  gasped.  She  choked 
at  the  thought  of  singing. 

"Well,  little  girl,  don't  be  so  scared,"  said 
Alice,  laughingly.  "You'll  sing  for  me  some 
time,  alone.  Leland  will  think  I'm  never 
coming,  so  good-bye.  Come  and  see  me  in 
the  morning  sure.  But  don't  look  so  worried, 
dear.  I  didn't  know  you  were  so  timid.  You 
used  to  like  to  sing  any  time.  But  don't  for- 
get to-morrow  morning,"  and  with  a  hasty  kiss 
she  hurried  down  to  Leland. 

Emma  stood  silent  where  Alice  had  left  her. 
She  seemed  dazed.  It  was  all  so  sudden. 
Then  she  heard  the  sound  of  steps  on  the 
walk  and  she  went  to  the  window.  Emma 
watched  them,  motionless,  till  they  disap- 
peared. Then  she  flung  herself  on  the  bed, 
and  for  a  moment  lay  quite  still,  till  suddenly 
her  whole  body  shook  with  passionate  sobs. 
She  loved  her  friend.  Why  had  seeing  her  so 
happy  made  her  so  wretched?  She  had 
thought  if  Alice  were  only  there  everything 
would  be  all  right.  But  now  she  could  de- 
ceive herself  no  longer.  And  oh!  the  hope- 
lessness of  it !     What  had  she  done?     She  had 


MISS  ayleswoeth's  friend.  53 

done  nothing,  he  had  done  nothing.  Why 
was  it?  She  was  utterly  miserable.  On  plea 
of  a  sick  headache  she  did  not  leave  her 
room,  and  all  efforts  to  persuade  her  to  go  to 
the  concert  failed. 

No  little  comment  was  caused  that  night  by 
the  beautiful  stranger  with  Mr.  Curtis.  Who 
could  she  be,  and  where  was  Frances  Wallace? 

"Where  is  Miss  Wallace,  Leland?  I'm 
anxious  to  see  her,"  said  Alice,  when  they  had 
taken  their  seats. 

"I  don't  know,  I  haven't  seen  her  yet." 

"And  where  is  Emma,  I  wonder?  Surely, 
she  wouldn't  miss  this." 

"Oh  no,  she'll  be  here.  She's  been  look- 
ing forward  to  this  concert  all  spring.  It's 
all  she  stayed  over  for." 

Just  then,  glancing  toward  the  door,  he  saw 
Frances  enter,  escorted  by  a  handsome  man, 
who  seemed  most  devoted.  The  usher  taking 
their  tickets  led  them  down  the  aisle  straight 
to  the  row  where  Alice  and  Leland  were  sitting. 
Frances  took  the  seat  next  Leland.  She 
looked  a  little  surprised,  smiled  and  bowed, 
casting  a  hasty  glance  toward  the  occupant  of 


54  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

the  seat  the  other  side  of  Curtis  as  she  did  so. 

"This  is  a  surprise,"  she  said  laughingly. 

"Yes,  a  little.  May  I  have  the  pleasure  of 
introducing  to  you  my  friend  Miss  Ayles- 
worth, Miss  Wallace?" 

"Miss  Aylesworth,  I'm  happy  to  know 
you,"  she  said  cordially,  "and  let  me  intro- 
duce Mr.  Pembroke,  Miss  Aylesworth  and  Mr. 
Curtis." 

Just  then  great  applause  greeted  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  star  of  the  evening.  But 
many  eyes  wandered  away  from  the  soloist  and 
the  gossips  enjoyed  a  rare  treat. 


Her  Cousin  Rob. 

THE  shadows  were  beginning  to  stretch 
across  the  campus,  deepening  the  chill 
of  a  pale  October  day.  The  wide-branching  elms 
were  almost  stripped  of  their  foliage;  there 
was  a  narrow  border  of  green  grass  on  either 
side  of  the  winding  walks,  but  elsewhere,  it 
was  dry  and  brown.  The  buildings  loomed 
up  with  a  dreariness,  rather  deepened  than  re- 
lieved by  the  bare  vines  which  still  clung  to 
their  rough  sides  and  trailed  over  their  por- 
ticos. The  tennis  courts  gave  the  same  im- 
pression. The  nets  sagged  dejectedly,  and 
the  half  dozen  students  who  had  come  out  for 
a  last  play  found  it  hard  to  withstand  the 
general  gloom. 

"I  say,  you!"  suddenly  called  out  a  little 
red-haired  fellow,  shivering  in  a  light-colored 
tennis  suit.  "I'm  going  to  quit.  Tennis  has 
lost  its  flavor.  Freezing  doesn't  agree  with 
it,  nor  with  me  either.     Let's  go  home." 

(55) 


56  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

His  opponent,  a  tall,  thin  young  man,  who 
wore  spectacles  and  had  a  generally  senior- 
like aspect,  Avas  searching  in  the  grass  at  the 
other  end  of  the  court,  for  a  ball. 

"You're  a  lazy  little  Prep,"  he  remarked 
without  looking  up.  "If  you'd  hustle  around 
you  might  get  warm,  to  say  nothing  about 
making  a  decent  play.  Look  at  Hoag  and 
Miss  Burgess.     That's  what  I  call  playing." 

"Pooh!"  retorted  the  Prep,  scornfully. 
"They're  too  struck  on  each  other  to  mind 
the  weather.  I'm  in  a  perfectly  conscious 
condition  yet,  thank  goodness." 

"No  more  than  they,"  responded  the  other, 
picking  up  his  coat  from  the  grass.  "Noth- 
ing spoony  there;  they're  cousins." 

"Cousins!"  ejaculated  the  Prep.  "You 
don't  say!  They  don't  take  after  the  same 
ancestor,  do  they?" 

"0  come  on  to  supper,  Sonny,"  said  the 
Senior  with  good  natured  indulgence.  "What 
do  you  know  about  them?  Hoag  isn't  all 
bad,  or  half,  for  that  matter.  His  cousin  tries 
to  look  after  him,  and  it  may  do  some  good. 
He  thinks  a  good  deal  of  her,  after  a  fashion." 


HEB    COUSIN    BOB.  57 

The  Prep  strolled  along,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  his  face  screwed  up  into  what 
might  be  termed  a  meditative  expression. 
"I — don't — know,"  he  remarked  judicially, 
"I — don't — know."  The  Senior  was  seized 
with  sudden  and  unexpected  impatience. 

"I'm  glad  you've  found  it  out,"  he  said 
sharply.  "I  was  beginning  to  think  you  never 
would  come  to  it.  Please  don't  limit  its  gen- 
eral application." 

The  Prep  appeared  unmoved.  "Yes,"  he 
said  serenely,  "  I  guess  I  didn't  know.  I 
guess  it  isn't  Hoag  who  is  struck."  Conver- 
sation languished  between  the  Senior  and  the 
Prep. 

In  the  meantime,  the  young  man  and 
woman,  designated  as  Hoag  and  Miss  Burgess, 
had  finished  playing  and  were  leaving  the 
campus.  Miss  Burgess  was  speaking  and  her 
tone  was  very  persuasive. 

"Please  come  up  Tuesday  night,  Rob.  A 
Hallowe'en  party  comes  only  once  a  year. 
I've  invited  ever  so  many  of  your  friends  and 
you'll  be  sure  to  have  a  good  time." 


58  ON   A   WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

There  was  a  shade  of  deep  anxiety  on  Hoag's 
open  countenance. 

"I'd  be  delighted  to  go,  you  know  that, 
Jessie.  But  my  work — now  don't  laugh — it's 
just  piling  up." 

Miss  Burgess  did  laugh  a  little.  "That's 
the  first  time  I  ever  heard  you  make  that 
plea,"  she  said.  "What's  the  matter?  Ex- 
aminations?" 

"That's  only  one  thing,"  he  answered,  rue- 
fully. "You  know  you  wanted  me  to  join  a 
society.  Well,  the  boys  have  just  insisted  on 
my  writing  up  things.  And  what's  more, 
there's  something  I've  got  to  have  done  next 
week,  and,"  with  a  touch  of  pathos — "I'm  so 
slow.  But  'Gopher'  Jones  promised  to  help 
me  if  I'd  come  around  there  Tuesday  night." 

Miss  Burgess  spoke  severely:  "I  know  that 
'Gopher'  Jones  won't  help  you  do  any  writ- 
ing on  Hallowe'en.  And  he  isn't  the  sort," 
— she  stopped  suddenly, — "Robbie  dear,  won't 
you  come  up  to  my  party?" 

The  expression  on  Hoag's  face  changed  from 
anxiety  to  patient  resignation. 

"I'll  come,"  he  said,  "even  though  I  have  to 


HER   COUSIN   ROB.  59 

study  on  Sunday  to  make  up.  I  hate  to  do 
that,  especially  since  I  know  you  are  so  op- 
posed to  it.  But  they  say  Professor  Eichards 
looked  over  examination  papers  the  Sunday 
after  he  went  with  you  to  the  picnic." 

"I  know  better,"  and  Miss  Burgess  spoke 
decidedly.  "But  it  wouldn't  make  any  differ- 
ence if  he  did.  AVhy,  if  I  should  throw  my- 
self into  Lake  Como,  that  wouldn't  be  any 
reason  why  you  should  follow  suit,  would  it?" 

Her  cousin  smiled  into  her  troubled  eyes, 
hiding  the  mischief  in  his  own  under  a  look 
of  bland  sentimentality. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  gently,  "but  I 
would,  though." 

The  girl  made  a  little  gesture  of  despair. 

"You  tire  me  to  death  with  your  frivolity, 
and  you  know  one  can't  be  really  angry  with 
you.  I'll  tell  you  what,  Rob,"  she  said  in  a 
different  tone,  "if  you  will  come  to  my  party, 
I  will  help  you  with  whatever  you  have  to 
write.  I  would  rather  do  it  than  have  you  go 
off  with  that  Jones.  I'll  be  at  home  to-mor- 
row afternoon." 

Hoag  suddenly  became  enthusiastic. 


60  ON    A    WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

"You're  a  brick,  Jessie!  You're  a  better 
writer  than  Jones,  too.  I'll  go  right  over  and 
tell  him  I  won't  need  him.  Here  you  are  at 
home.  Shall  I  come  at  three?  All  right. 
Here's  your  racket.     Good  by." 

Miss  Burgess  paused  an  instant  on  the  steps  to 
catch  a  last  glimpse  of  him  as  he  went  whist- 
ling down  the  street.  One  was  often  tempted 
to  do  that.  Even  the  "down  town"  people, 
from  the  little  kindergarten  girls  to  the  old 
negro  who  cleaned  crossings,  were  his  ardent 
admirers.  This  was  sometimes  a  source  of 
anxiety  to  Miss  Burgess,  but  just  now  her  gray 
eyes  were  very  bright  with  approval.  She, 
too,  was  attractive,  but  in  a  different  way. 
Her  face  was  rosy,  and  she  smiled  happily,  as 
she  went  up  the  steps. 

"He  is  a  dear  boy,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"He  likes  to  tease  me.  I  believe  he  didn't 
intend  to  have  anything  to  do  with  that  hor- 
rible Jones." 

But  she  was  mistaken  in  at  least  one  of  her 
conclusions.  Hoag  was  already  on  his  way  to 
the  room  of  "Gopher"  Jones.  He  found  that 
illustrious  gentleman  scowling  over  a  pile  of 


"Shall  I  come  at  three  ?  " 


Page  60. 


HER   COUSIN   ROB.  61 

magazines.     He  looked  up  as  Hoag  entered. 

"Hello  'Kid!'     Any  developments?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Hoag.  "I'm  going  to  a 
Hallowe'en  party  up  to  my  cousin's  Tuesday 
evening." 

Jones  dropped  his  magazine. 

"A  lot  you  are!  Leave  us  in  the  lurch  at 
this  late  day  when  you  know  we  depend  on 
you  for  most  of  the  writing!" 

"Rob  sat  down  on  the  end  of  the  study  table, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  the  embodiment  of 
good-natured  indifference. 

"This  is  rich,"  he  remarked.  "You  take 
me  into  this  as  a  great  favor  in  the  way  of 
gaining  experience  and  so  forth,  and  now  you 
hold  me  responsible  for  the  whole  thing.  You 
are  consistent,  'Gopher.'  " 

Jones  began  piling  up  his  magazines. 
"You're  fooling,"  he  said.  "When  you  feel 
like  talking  sense,  come  around.  I'm  busy 
now." 

Rob  still  sat  on  the  table. 

"But  I  mean  it!"  he  declared.  "I  am  go- 
ing to  that  party,  but  in  return  for  the 
pleasure  of  my  company,  my  cousin  is  going 


62  ON   A   WESTERN"   CAMPUS. 

to  help  me  with  some  writing  I  have  to  do. 
See?" 

Jones  stared  at  him.  "You're  an  idiot. 
She  won't  do  it." 

"She  will  too.     She  promised." 

"So  much  the  more  confounded  idiocy. 
Why  don't  you  give  the  thing  away  to  the 
whole  college?  Go  down  and  confide  in  Prex, 
he  may  be  able  to  give  you  some  valuable  sug- 
gestions." 

Hoag  got  down  from  the  table. 

"Shut  up  with  your  sarcasm.  I  know  what 
I  am  talking  about.  She'll  know  I'm  in  it,  of 
course,  but  she  won't  tell  on  me.  And  I  tell 
you  it's  our  only  chance.  I  can't  do  a  thing 
alone.  It  isn't  a  bad  idea,  either, — rather 
novel  to  have  a  girl  like  her  in  it." 

Jones'  scowl  relaxed  a  little. 

"Eather,"  he  admitted.  "But  I'm  afraid 
you're  running  a  risk,  old  man." 

"You  needn't  be  afraid  of  getting  into 
it,"  retorted  Hoag,  going  toward  the  door. 
"But  if  you  really  feel  timid  and  would  like 
to  get  out  of  the  business,  I  presume  I  can  get 
some  other  girl  to  take  your  place."     And   he 


HER   COUSIN   ROB.  63 

dodged  down  the  stairway  just  in  time  to 
escape  a  Latin  grammar  from  the  hand  of  the 
irascible  Jones. 

Miss  Burgess  found  her  cousin  waiting  for 
her  at  three  the  next  day. 

"I  am  surprised,"  she  declared,  "and  ever 
so  curious  to  know  what  in  the  line  of  work 
can  have  such  an  attraction  for  you.  I  am 
not  a  bit  sure  I  can  help.  It  isn't  a  political 
paper,  is  it?" 

"Not  exactly,"  and  Hoag  smiled  grimly. 
"I'm  sorry,  Jessie,  but  I  can't  tell  you  all 
about  it,  not  till  after  it  comes  off  anyway. 
It's  a  secret,  you  see.  As  far  as  I'm  con- 
cerned, I'd  be  willing  to  have  you  know,  but 
a  fellow  must  keep  his  word  to  the  others. 
Now  don't  look  that  way.  All  I  want  you  to 
do  is  to  write  some  verse,  in  fact,  some 
epitaphs." 

"Epitaphs!  Rob  Hoag!  For  whom,  I'd  be 
pleased  to  know?" 

"0,  for  a  number  of  people,"  answered 
Hoag,  coolly,  "a  few  of  the  Seniors,  but 
mostly  Faculty.  It's  just  a  joke.  'Twon't 
phase  the  Seniors  or  the  Faculty  either," 


64  ON   A   WESTERN"   CAMPUS. 

"I  suppose  the  Faculty  never  go  to  society," 
suggested  Miss  Burgess,  somewhat  doubtfully. 

"Never,"  and  a  look  of  mingled  surprise 
and   amusement  flitted  over   Hoag's   face. 

"At  any  rate,  I  think  they'd  prefer  your 
verse  to  Jones'." 

The  allusion  to  Jones  had  its  desired  effect* 
Miss  Burgess  forgot  her  misgivings,  and  was 
soon  busy  writing,  and  however  dissatisfied 
she  may  have  been  with  the  result,  her  cousin 
was  very  much  pleased  and  grateful  as  well. 

"Truly,  Jessie,"  he  declared  as  he  took  his 
leave,  "I  don't  know  Avhat  I'd  ever  do  down 
here  without  my  cousin." 

And  Miss  Burgess,  tired  and  still  burdened 
with  a  sort  of  doubtful  feeling  in  the  depths 
of  her  consciousness,  decided  that  perhaps  it 
was  worth  while  after  all.  At  least,  she  was 
one  ahead  of  that  horrible  Jones. 

Tuesday  evening  was  warm  and  clear. 
"Just  the  right  sort  of  an  evening,"  more 
than  one  busy  student  might  have  been  heard 
to  murmur,  as  he  looked  away  from  his  books 
out  into  the  dimly  lighted  streets.  It  seemed 
to  have  been  the  right  sort  of  an  evening  for 


HER   COUSIN   ROB.  65 

the  party;  at  any  rate  even  the  hostess  was 
satisfied  with  the  success  of  her  undertaking, 
and  not  a  small  element  in  her  satisfaction 
was  the  fact  that  her  cousin  was  there,  the 
merriest  and  most  entertaining  of  all  her 
guests.  She  even  felt  a  little  lenient  toward 
"Gopher"  Jones,  who,  poor  fellow,  must  go 
out  on  his  dark  mission  of  removing  gates  and 
overturning  sidewalks  without  the  cheering 
presence  of  her  cousin  Rob. 

For  his  part,  Hoag  was  still  very  grateful, 
and  so  attentive  to  her  during  the  evening, 
that  the  Senior  came  near  losing  his  temper 
for  the  second  time.  But  nothing  was  to  be 
gained  in  that  way,  so  he  contented  himself 
with  admiring  her  from  the  other  side  of  the 
fireplace  as  they  sat  around  it,  telling  stories. 

She  was  very  quiet  and  he  wondered,  in  a 
sentimental  fashion,  what  she  was  thinking  of. 
But  it  would  not  have  consoled  him  to  know, 
for  she  was  dreaming  of  her  cousin,  winning 
group  honors,  graduating  as  valedictorian  per- 
haps, and  the  president  saying  beautiful  things 
about  him,  while  all  his  relatives  were  delight- 
fully surprised  and  everyone  was  saying,  "It 


66  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

was  Jessie's  influence  that  did  it." 

She  was  still  in  a  very  happy  frame  of 
mind  as  she  walked  down  the  street  to  break- 
fast the  next  morning.  An  overturned  side- 
walk  caught  her  attention. 

"Bob  didn't  do  it,"  she  thought  triumph- 
antly. "I  believe  he  is  outgrowing  such  things 
anyway,"  and  she  remembered  that  whenever 
she  had  seen  him  lately  he  was  hurrying 
across  the  campus  or  through  the  corridors 
with  the  energetic  swing  which  betokens  the 
busy  student. 

Her  thought  ran  on, — "I  wonder  what  they 
did  do,  they  must  have  been  planning  some- 
thing. I'll  find  out  at  the  club."  Her  curi- 
osity was  thoroughly  aroused  as  she  entered 
the  hall,  for  an  unusal  commotion  could  be 
heard  in  the  dining-room. 

"What  is  it?"  she  demanded  as  she  entered. 
"Anything  new?" 

"Well,  I  should  say  so!"  "Haven't  you 
heard?"  "Why,  the  greatest  thing!"  came 
from  various  directions.  "They've  buried 
the  Faculty!" 

"What!     Where?"  Miss  Burgess  gasped. 


HER   COUSIN   ROB.  67 

''Look  at  her!"  laughed  a  bright-eyed 
Sophomore  who  succeeded  best  in  being  heard 
above  the  commotion.  "Girls,  she's  going  to 
dig  them  up.  Don't  worry,  dear;  this  won't 
hurt  them  a  mite;  it's  nothing  compared  with 
some  of  their  previous  experiences.  You  see 
there  are  little  mounds,  and  tombstones  on 
the  mounds,  and  epitaphs  on  the  tombstones. 
And  I  forgot  to  say  that  the  mounds  are  in 
the  north-east  corner  of  the  campus." 

The  Sophomore  paused  an  instant  for 
breath,  and  then  went  on.  "Mr.  Decker  has 
been  up  there,  and  we're  all  going  up  right 
after  breakfast.  You're  late,  Jessie.  Girls, 
pass  her  the  milk.  That's  another  thing  you 
missed,  Jessie.  There  was  real  cream  on  the 
top  of  that  milk  when  I  got  here  this  morn- 
ing. 1  poured  it  on  my  oatmeal  and  then  kept 
it  until  the  others  came  and  could  see  it.  But 
when  Mr.  Decker  told  his  story,  I  ate  my  oat- 
meal and  forgot  all  about  the  cream." 

Miss  Burgess  began  her  breakfast,  only  half 
heeding  the  chatter,  until  a  sentence  caught 
her  attention. 

"That  wasn't   bad,"    the    Sophomore   was 


68  ON   A   WESTEEN   CAMPUS. 

saying,  "about  Prof.  Dixon  and  his  measure- 
ments. Not  even  a  Hallowe'en  joker  would 
be  very  hard  on  him." 

Miss  Burgess  looked  up  with  a  sudden  vague 
uneasiness.  The  Sophomore  met  her  ques- 
tioning glance. 

"Oh,  you  haven't  heard  it,"  she  said.  "Mr. 
Decker  copied  that  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Freshmen  over  there  who  are  studying  astron- 
omy.    Here  'tis.     I'll  read  it  again: 

'He  measured  the  distance  between  the  stars, 

The  circumference  of  the  sun, 
But  these  measurements  were  naught  to  him, 

There  were  harder  yet  undone. 
So  the  depth  of  the  average  student's  mind 

The  old  hero  tried  to  sound; 
The  shock  was  too  great,  he  measures  now 

But  four  by  six  of  ground.'  " 

"Oh  say!  read  the  other  one!"  demanded 
a  sad-faced  youth  from  the  opposite  side  of 
the  table.  "That's  a  sight  better.  I  could 
listen  to  it  all  day  and  only  mourn  that  it's  too 
good  to  be  true.  Whoever  the  author  of  those 
lovely  lines  may  be,  I  tell  you  his  soul  is  akin 
to  mine.  And  I'm  willing  to  wager  my  next 
piece  of  pie  that  his  suffered  the  same  hard- 


HER   COUSIN   ROB.  69 

ships  mine  did  in  the  last  chem.  exam.     Now 
just  read  that  lyric  again." 

"I  don't  know  whether  I'd  better  or  not," 
answered  the  Sophomore.  "It  seems  to  be 
the  means  of  developing  a  very  bloodthirsty 
spirit  in  your  hitherto  gentle  nature.  But  if 
you'll  try  to  calm  yourself,  I'll  read  it  to  Miss 
Burgess.  Jessie,  listen  to  these  'lovely  lines,'  " 
and  the  Sophomore  read  in  tragic  tones : 

"Here  lies  the  cold  remains  of  him  who  with 

great  fervor  taught 
That  atom  clings  to  atom,  that  every  one  is 

fraught 
With  power  to  clutch  each  other,  to  rend,  and 

e'en  to  save 
Some  smaller,  weaker  atom,   from  a  weaker 

atom's  grave. 
He  joyed  in  fumes  sulphurous,  in  smoke  and 

ghastly  puff 
Of  acid  eating  acid,  till  it  eaten  had  enough; 
So  since  he's  left  these  realms  of  light,   in 

midst  of  curdled  gloom, 
Old  Pluto  hath  his  dwelling  fixed  and  fur- 
nished up  his  room." 

"Oh,  ecstasy!  ecstasy!"  murmured  the  sad- 
faced  student.  "Would  that  I  could  have  had 
a  hand  in  it!     Here,  Barnes!"  he  called  out, 


70  ON   A   AVESTERN   CAMPUS. 

with  sudden  reATi\*al  of  spirit,  to  a  young  man 
about  to  leaA'e  the  room,  "if  you're  going 
down  town,  just  step  into  Thompson's  and  or- 
der a  nickle's  worth  of  forget-me-nots  to  be 
sent  up  to  the  college  cemetery,  at  my  charge. 
There's  nothing  small  about  me  Avhen  my  feel- 
ings are  concerned." 

The  buzz  of  conA*ersation  went  on  as  before, 
but  Miss  Burgess  didn't  say  a  word.  She  felt 
her  face  flame ;  her  toast  choked  her ;  and  she 
Avas  exceedingly  thankful  Avhen  she  Avas  left 
alone  in  the  dining  room  Avith  injunctions  to 
hurry.  She  hoped  that  they  would  go  and 
leave  her,  but  they  did  not,  so  she  went  Avith 
them  to  the  campus,  dreading  to  attract  their 
attention  to  herself  by  refusing  to  go. 

It  Avas  worse  than  she  had  anticipated,  for 
quite  a  crowd  Avas  already  on  the  campus. 
They  Avere  gathering  around  a  little  open 
space  beyond  the  tennis  courts,  where  could  be 
seen  the  black  mounds  with  their  conspicuous 
headboards.  The  epitaphs  Avere  written  on 
paper  tacked  to  the  boards. 

It  was  Avith  anguish  of  soul  that  Miss  Bur- 
gess listened  to  the  reading  of  the  epitaphs 


HER   COUSIN    ROB.  71 

and  the  laughing  and  talking  which  accom- 
panied it.  Near  her  the  Sophomore's  voice 
rang  out  with, — 

''Professor  Snow  in  this  mound  below, 

A  director  of  youthful  ideas. 

'Neath  a  green  coverlid  is  the  dear  fellow  hid, 

Nevermore  to  be  able  to  see  us. 

His  demise  is  sad,  but  there's  nothing  to  add 

Of  'mysterious  dispensations,' 

We  must  say  for  truth's  sake,  that  he  took, 

by  mistake, 
One  of  his  own  examinations." 

"Didn't  they  honor  Prexy!"  came  from 
another  direction.  "His  is  the  only  Latin  one 
in  the  lot.  My !  but  wouldn't  the  shades  of 
the  old  poets  have  groaned  if  they  had  passed 
this  way  last  night!" 

"Lugete,  0  Veneres  Cupidinesque, 
Noster  Princeps  sepultus  est  sub  terra. 
Nos  luximus  dum  vobis  cum  hie  vixit, 
Justum  est  nunc  ut  vestri  ocelli  rubent." 

Miss  Burgess  suddenly  turned.  The  sound 
of  a  very  familiar  voice  came  from  a  group  of 
young  men  behind  her. 

"Impudent,  aren't  they?"  one  of  them  was 


72  ON   A   WESTEEN   CAMPUS. 

saying.  "Wonder  who  did  it.  Bet  'twas  the 
town  boys." 

She  waited  to  hear  no  more,  but  with  a  sud- 
den feeling  of  vindictiveness  she  walked  away 
across  the  campus. 

"He  might  have  staid  away,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "at  least  while  I  was  there."  Her 
mind  was  in  a  tumult.  What  would  they  all 
think  of  her  if  they  knew !  She,  Jessie  Bur- 
gess, an  upper  classman,  and  at  the  head  of 
some  half  dozen  organizations.  All  at  once 
she  heard  steps  behind  her.  Her  first  thought 
was  of  her  cousin.  "I  could  choke  him,"  she 
muttered  under  her  breath  and  walked  on  as 
fast  as  she  could.  The  one  who  followed 
gained  on  her,  and  almost  caught  up  with  her, 
but  she  would  not  look  at  him. 

"Miss  Burgess,"  he  said. 

She  turned  sharply.  It  was  the  tall,  dark 
Senior.     Her  face  flushed  painfully. 

"I  didn't  think, — I  thought  it  was  Rob," 
she  stammered  and  then  she  wished  she  had 
said  anything  else.  He  seemed  to  take  no  no- 
tice of  her  embarassment,  however,  and  began 
talking  about  the  tombstones.    "They  are  mak- 


HER   COUSIN   ROB.  73 

ing  quite  an  exciting  thing  out  of  it,"  he  said, 
"but  it  will  all  blow  over  by  night.  The  Fac- 
ulty won't  pay  any  attention  to  it — just  a 
boyish  prank.  And  the  epitaphs  are  excep- 
tionally mild — shows  that  the  one  avIio  got 
them  up  isn't  a  real  rowdy.  A  harmless  trick, 
I  call  it." 

Then  he  talked  on  about  other  things,  never 
giving  her  time  to  say  a  word  until  he  left  her 
at  the  corner,  half  laughing,  half  crying. 

"The  great  goose!"  she  said  to  herself  as 
she  went  on  alone.  "He  thinks  Rob  did  it 
and  wanted  to  comfort  me.  What  would  he 
say  if  he  knew!" 

She  started  early  to  chapel  that  morning  to 
avoid  the  company  of  the  other  girls  of  the 
house,  who  were  still  talking  about  the 
epitaphs.  By  doing  so,  she  met  President 
Dean  on  the  campus  and  was  obliged  to  walk 
to  chapel  with  him.  He  waited  an  instant  for 
her,  and  as  she  joined  him,  he  lifted  his  hat  so 
courteously,  and  beamed  upon  her  so  approv- 
ingly, that  her  cup  was  quite  full. 

"Have  you  seen  our  little  cemetery  up 
here?"    he    asked  after  his   brusque    "Good 


74  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

morning,"  and  then  laughed  heartily  at  her 
evident  embarrassment  as  she  stammered  a 
reply. 

"We  don't  care,"  he  said  good-naturedly. 
"Some  one  has  wasted  a  lot  of  energy,  that's 
all.  Mark  my  word,  if  I  wanted  to  find  the 
author,  which  I  don't,  I  would  look  among 
the  E's.  Students  who  get  such  reports  as 
yours,  Miss  Jessie,  don't  have  time  for  such 
nonsense." 

And  he  thought  her  extremely  modest  as  he 
glanced  at  the  scarlet  face. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  chapel  would  never 
be  over  that  morning.  To  her  distorted 
imagination  the  tutor  in  Greek  had  hung 
about  his  youthful  neck  a  white  slab,  with 
"Bless  our  Baby"  upon  it,  while  a  red  and 
green  halo  surrounded  the  head  of  the  senior 
philosophy  Professor. 

"When  chapel  was  over,  she  walked  quickly 
away,  looking  neither  to  right  nor  left,  but 
again  she  was  overtaken,  and  this  time  it  was 
Hoag.  He  greeted  her  cheerfully  and  then 
presented  in  an  awed  tone  the  all-prevailing 
question : 


HER   COUSIN    ROB.  75 

"Have  you  seen  them?" 

Miss  Burgess  neither  looked  at  him  nor  re- 
plied, but  he  talked  on,  volubly. 

"Great  shame,  isn't  it?  I'd  like  to  know 
who  did  it.  What  do  you  suppose  they'd  do 
to  him  if  they  found  out?  My !  he  must  have 
had  cheek!  Oh,  do  you  recite  here?  Good- 
by." 

That  was  not  all.  Hoag  met  her  a  dozen 
times  in  the  next  few  days,  always  with  a  re- 
mark ready. 

"Do  you  remember  that  verse  about  Prof. 
White?  Wasn't  it  audacious?"  or,  "That 
epitaph  keeps  ringing  in  my  ears." 

He  tired  of  it  after  a  little  and  everyone 
else  ceased  to  speak  of  the  affair,  but  Miss 
Burgess  could  hardly  forget  it.  She  treated 
her  cousin  with  a  steady  coolness  which  that 
young  man  found  quite  depressing.  One 
morning  near  the  close  of  the  term,  he  found 
her  in  the  library,  and  went  up  to  her  with 
a  most  lugubrious  countenance. 

"Cousin  Jessie,"  he  said,  "I  am  going  into 
a  decline.  The  rigor  of  the  climate  is  too 
much  for  me.  And,  Jessie,  as  a  last  request, 


76  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

will  you  write  an  epitaph  for  me?  I  don't 
care  about  your  nattering  me  much,  but  I 
wish  you'd  say  that  toward  the  last  I  repented 
my  former  wickedness  and  tried  to  be  honest. 
Please  be  thinking  about  it,  for  I  may  need  it 
soon." 

Strange  to  say,  instead  of  being  angry,  she 
forgave  him  immediately. 

The  Senior,  who  soon  discovered  the  changed 
relations,  was  magnanimous  enough  to  say  that 
he  was  glad  of  it. 

"None  of  the  rest  of  us  thought  it  was  so 
bad,"  he  said,  "but  you,  being  a  young 
woman  with  a  very  high  standard  of  honor, 
and  Rob's  cousin,  may  have  looked  at  it  from 
a  little  different  standpoint." 

She  replied  meekly  that  perhaps  she  did. 


II. 

PORTRAITS. 


Jack   Dumbaugh. 

EVERY  fellow  who  had  been  in  college  for 
six  weeks  knew  Jack  Dumbaugh.  He 
had  the  reputation  of  being  "queer,"  not  ob- 
trusively so,  but  enough  to  make  him  a  sub- 
ject of  frequent  comment.  The  first  day  he 
came  to  town  in  the  fall  of  189 — ,  "Big" 
Crane,  the  captain  of  the  'Varsity,  was  at  the 
station  with  the  manager  of  the  team,  on  the 
lookout  for  any  promising  candidates.  As 
Jack  swung  off  the  train,  the  two  watchers 
spied  him  and,  going  up,  introduced  them- 
selves. After  giving  him  some  pointers  as  to 
rooms,  Crane  asked  Jack,  commenting  on  the 
fact  that  he  was  well  built  and  sinewy, 
whether  he  had  ever  played  foot-ball.  Al- 
though forced  to  admit  that  he  had  not,  Jack 
said  that  'he  would  be  willing  to  come  out  and 
practice  for  a  while  at  least,  but  being  a  new 
man,  he  supposed  that  he  would  not  make 
much  of  a  showing  the  first  season. ' 

(79) 


80  ON    A    WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

He  found  a  room  in  the  central  part  of  the 
town,  as  near  the  business  portion  as  the  stud- 
ents were  allowed  to  live,  and  picked  up  as  his 
room-mate  a  sophomore,  Fred  Durnham.  He 
registered  Junior,  but  to  all  the  students'  in- 
quiries as  to  where  he  had  prepared  for  that 
class,  he  would  only  reply  that  he  had  been 
for  two  years  in  a  small  college  in  his  own 
state,  Ohio.  Contrary  to  his  expectations,  he 
exhibited  a  good  deal  of  skill  in  foot-ball, 
gaining  a  position  as  sub-end,  but  as  "Spike" 
English,  who  played  tackle  on  Jack's  side, 
used  to  put  it,  "You  can't  depend  on  Dum- 
baugh ;  sometimes  he  will  get  in  and  break  up 
the  interference  as  quick  as  a  flash,  but  at 
other  times  he  won't  get  started  until  the  half 
has  got  clear  to  him,  and  he  can't  touch  the 
interference."  Still,  although  he  would  sur- 
prise and  delight  the  spectators  by  his  occa- 
sional brilliant  plays,  he  was  by  no  means  pop- 
ular among  the  boys.  For  he  was  always  in  a 
serious  mood,  sometimes  even  irritable  when 
the  coach  pointed  out  the  mistakes  he  had 
made  in  practice,  though  he  invariably  apolo- 
gized later  for  his  hot  temper.     He  was  a  good 


JACK   DUMBAUGH.  81 

student,  but  his  instructors  were  unable  to 
understand  him,  for  although  he  paid  the 
strictest  attention,  as  soon  as  he  had  re- 
cited, he  seemed  to  have  no  further  interest  in 
the  class,  and  often  what  interest  he  did  ex- 
hibit was  mechanical. 

There  sprang  up  a  strange  friendship  be- 
tween Jack  and  his  room-mate.  Fred  Durn- 
ham  was  a  jolly,  impulsive  young  fellow,  al- 
ways on  the  lookout  for  something  to  get  him 
into  trouble ;  but  he  thought  a  great  deal  of 
Jack.  Often  when  he  would  come  into  the 
room  after  some  lark,  and  find  Jack  settled 
back  comfortably  in  a  rocker  studying  or  gaz- 
ing vacantly  at  the  ceiling,  he  would  imagine 
that  he  was  homesick,  and  would  give  him  a 
long  account  of  the  boys'  doings,  trying  to  in- 
duce him  to  join  the  crowd  in  some  of  their 
fun.  Jack  never  seemed  to  be  troubled  by 
these  interruptions,  however,  but  when  Fred 
had  finished,  he  cautioned  him  about  going 
too  far  and  getting  sent  home.  The  only 
social  affair  which  Jack  attended,  was  the  an- 
nual reception  given  by  the  senior  girls  to  the 
foot-ball  team.     When  "Big"  Crane  first  told 


82  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

him  about  the  reception,  Jack  utterly  refused 
to  go,  declaring  he  could  not  be  hired  to  at- 
tend any  of  those  dress  affairs ;  but  upon  Crane's 
representing  to  him  that  the  girls  had  planned 
on  a  certain  number  being  present,  and  that  it 
would  upset  all  their  arrangements  unless  he 
went,  he  relented.  Instead  of  proving  hard 
to  be  entertained,  Jack  was  very  much  of  a 
success  as  a  listener,  and  established  himself 
readily  in  the  good  graces  of  his  hostesses. 
Fred  was  delighted  at  the  reports  he  heard, 
and  thought  that  Jack  was  going  to  reform 
immediately.  Yet  after  this  event  he  drew 
back  into  his  shell  again,  and  hardly  went  out 
of  the  house  except  to  his  meals  and  recita- 
tions. 

The  junior  class  decided  to  present  Hamlet 
during  the  spring  term,  instead  of  publishing 
the  regular  Junior  Annual,  and  every  member 
of  the  class  felt  that  Dumbaugh  was  the  man 
to  take  the  leading  role,  but  Jack  again  re- 
fused to  accept  any  position  which  would 
make  him  prominent.  Night  after  night,  Ray 
Howell,  the  manager  of  the  play,  came  over 
to  his  room  and  reasoned  Avith  him.     Finding 


JACK    DUMBAUGH.  83 

that  no  personal  appeal  would  persuade  Jack, 
he  tried  a  different  line  of  argument.  "Why, 
it  isn't  that  you  keep  yourself  from  getting  a 
reputation,  Jack — you  don't  care  a  snap  for 
that,  I  suppose — but  the  class  needs  you. 
You  have  an  entirely  different  temperament 
from  any  of  the  other  fellows,  and  you  would 
be  just  suited  to  represent  Hamlet."  "Well," 
replied  Jack,  with  a  good  deal  of  spirit, 
"there  have  been  many  Hamlets  in  this  world, 
men  who  have  suffered  from  just  such  doubts 
and  struggles  as  he  did;  but  if  you  are  certain 
that  I  am  best  fitted  to  represent  him,  I'll  try 
it." 

The  weekly  rehearsals  began  about  the  first 
of  March,  and  by  the  last  of  April,  the  parts 
had  been  well  committed.  Although  satisfied 
that  he  had  made  the  best  selection  of  char- 
acters, Howell  was  often  perplexed  as  he 
watched  Jack.  One  week  he  would  put  the 
most  intense  meaning  into  his  words,  the 
next,  he  seemed  as  far  away  from  the  play  as 
though  he  were  reciting  a  passage  from  some 
comedy.  "I  do  wish  I  could  make  that  fellow 
out,"  he  said  to  the  trainer.     "I  know  that 


84  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

he  has  the  right  part,  aDd  he  probably  will 
make  a  success  of  it,  but  there  is  something 
the  matter  with  him,  and  I  can't  find  out 
what  it  is.  You  can't  rely  on  him  for  any 
length  of  time  whatever."  The  final  dress 
rehearsal,  the  afternoon  before  the  play,  was  a 
sorry  time  for  the  actors.  Jack  was  unable  to 
go  through  with  his  part  at  all  creditably. 
He  did  not  make  himself  heard  half  way 
across  the  room,  and  even  made  a  few  slight 
Omissions.     Howell  was  in  despair. 

Evening  came  and  the  house  was  packed. 
It  was  not  a  large  building,  eight  hundred  filled 
it  comfortably,  but  to-night  fully  a  thous- 
and had  crowded  the  ground  floor  and  the 
one  small  gallery,  half  an  hour  before  the  play 
was  advertised  to  begin.  The  front  seats  were 
reserved,  according  to  the  usual  custom,  for 
the  Seniors,  but  with  this  exception  the  crowd 
was  very  much  mixed.  The  students  were  al- 
most all  there,  and  jolly  couples  scattered 
through  the  audience  were  discussing  the 
play  and  the  actors.  Directly  back  of  the 
Seniors  were  several  of  the  older  citizens  of 
the  town,  who  had  come  to  join  the  students, 


JACK  DUMBAUGH.  85 

and  lose  themselves  in  the  happiness  and 
eagerness  of  the  younger  part  of  the  audience. 
The  stage  and  gallery  draped  with  Old  Gold, 
and  the  yellow  tulips  of  the  ushers 
gave  evidence  of  the  class  spirit  and  in- 
terest. As  they  passed  back  and  forth  trying 
to  crowd  chairs  down  the  aisles  for  those 
standing  in  the  rear  of  the  building,  they 
heard  many  comments  on  the  rehearsals  and 
the  prospects  for  the  play. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Crane,"  said  Miss  Eldredge,  the 
freshman  belle  of  the  college,  to  the  sedate 
Senior  at  her  side,  "do  you  think  that  Mr. 
Dumbaugh  will  make  a  failure  to-night?  The 
girls  were  saying  that  he  couldn't  do  a  thing 
this  afternoon,  and  Avouldn't  it  be  perfectly 
dreadful  if  he  should  spoil  it  now!" 

In  one  corner  of  the  room,  far  back  under 
the  gallery,  sat  an  old  couple,  the  parents  of 
one   of    the    actors. 

"No,  Mary,"  said  the  father,  "I  don't  be- 
lieve in  sending  Lafe  off  to  school  to  learn 
no  acting.  I  would  rather  have  kept  him 
ter  home  on  the  farm  with  me,  but  he  is 
most  through  now,  and  he  has  behaved  him- 


86  ON  A   WESTERN"   CAMPUS. 

self  pretty  well,  so  I  guess  we  won't  say  noth- 
ing about  this." 

"I  wouldn't,  John,"  she  replied,  "Just 
think  how  hard  Lafe  studies,  and  you  know 
he  is  taking  this  instead  of  foot-ball  this 
spring.  He  promised  me  he  wouldn't  put  on 
one  of  them  suits  all  this  term  if  I  would  let 
him  go  into  this." 

"What  a  creditable  sacrifice  Lafe  Tenant  is 
making,"  said  a  mischievous  youth  behind 
the  old  couple  to  his  companion,  "but  I  sup- 
pose the  folks  appreciate  it." 

All  unconscious  of  the  mirth  her  remark 
had  created,  the  fond  mother  was  straining 
her  eyes  to  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  her  son. 
The  scene  on  the  curtain,  a  street  in  Venice, 
proved  a  source  of  interest  to  some  of  the 
audience.  The  slender  gondolas  and  the  pic- 
turesque gondoliers  were  variously  com- 
mented upon,  but  even  with  this  diversion 
time  passed  slowly  for  the  anxious  crowd. 

At  last  the  college  orchestra  was  through 
with  the  Danube  Waltzes  and  the  curtain 
rolled  slowly  up.  The  stage  was  small, 
although  the  scenery  had  been  skillfully  ar- 


JACK   DUMBAUGH.  87 

ranged  so  that  the  action  did  not  reveal  how 
cramped  the  players  really  were.  During  the 
first  scene  the  mass  of  people  below  seemed  ex- 
pectant and  uneasy,  but  when  Jack  came  upon 
the  stage,  an  almost  painful  silence  came  over 
them  as  they  listened  for  his  first  words,  ut- 
tered slowly  and  penetrating  to  the  farthest 
part  of  the  building.  "A  little  more  than  kin 
and  less  than  kind. "  His  voice  and  manner 
were  in  perfect  unison  with  the  character  he 
was  portraying,  and  as  Howell  heard  him,  he 
congratulated  himself  again  on  his  selection. 
As  soon  as  the  first  act  was  over,  Jack 
hurried  to  a  dressing  room  and  locked  the 
door.  Then  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  small 
hypodermic  syringe  and  three  white  tablets. 
These  he  crushed  in  his  palm,  and  drawing  a 
syringe  full  of  water  from  a  tumbler  on  the 
window,  he  slowly  dropped  it  on  the  powder 
until  it  was  dissolved.  Then  taking  the  solu- 
tion up  again  into  the  syringe,  he  inserted  the 
hollow  needle  into  his  bared  arm,  injected  the 
contents,  and  withdrew  the  instrument. 
After  holding  his  finger  for  a  moment  over 
the  puncture  in  his  arm,  he  hastily  drew  down 


88  OU   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

his  sleeve  and  started  for  the  door.  Just  as 
he  unlocked  it  and  stepped  out  into  the  pas- 
sage-way, he  ran  into  Fred,  who  had  come  up 
to  congratulate  his  room-mate. 

"Hello,  old  man!"  burst  out  the  joyful 
youth,  slapping  him  on  the  shoulder,  "I've 
been  looking  everywhere  for  you ;  where  have 
you  been  hiding?  Why,  you  are  altogether 
too  modest.  I  never  thought  that  I'd  see  you 
turn  such  an  actor  as  you  are  to-night.  Some 
scamp  was  telling  me  that  you  had  lost  your 
nerve  this  afternoon,  but  he  is  singing  a  dif- 
ferent tune  now."  Jack  listened  to  his  en- 
thusiastic greeting  with  a  smile,  but  had  to 
hasten  back  to  the  stage  without  making  any 
reply.  "Well,  that  man  Dumbaugh  is  a  sur- 
prise," was  the  comment  that  Fred  heard  as 
he  edged  his  way  back  to  his  seat.  "How 
natural  his  acting  is!" 

In  the  closing  scene,  the  audience  was 
hushed  with  deep  feeling  as  Jack  challenged 
Laertes  to  renew  the  contest,  and,  with  a 
thrill  of  triumphant  joy,  accomplished  on 
the  king  his  long-sought  revenge.  When  the 
curtain  fell,  Fred  again  hurried  back  to  the 


JACK   DUMBAUGH.  89 

dressing-room,  where  he  met  Jack  before,  and 
found  him  sitting  on  a  table  listless  and  ut- 
terly exhausted.  From  the  stage  could  be 
heard  the  merry  voices  of  the  Juniors  as  they 
greeted  one  and  another  of  the  actors,  and 
soon  there  were  loud  calls  for  Dumbaugh.  As 
he  heard  his  name,  Jack  roused  up  a  little, 
and  telling  Fred  that  he  was  too  tired  to  see 
anyone,  they  went  out  by  the  stage  entrance, 
and  hurried  home.  Here  Jack  threw  himself 
upon  his  bed,  and  with  instructions  to  Fred 
to  let  no  one  disturb  him,  fell  into  a  troubled 
sleep.  To  the  fellows  who  came  around  to  see 
Dumbaugh,  Fred  explained  that  he  was  very 
tired  and  had  gone  to  bed,  asking  that  no  one 
disturb  him.  All  the  next  day  Jack  lay  in  a 
dazed  condition.  He  refused  to  let  Fred  send 
for  a  physician,  assuring  him  that  he  was  all 
right,  only  very  much  worn,  but  insisted  on 
his  keeping  everyone  out.  Toward  night  he 
came  over  to  the  table  where  Fred  was  study- 
ing, and  threw  himself  into  the  rocker,  where 
he  sat  in  silence  for  several  minutes,  looking 
around  the  room.  Finally  he  said,  "Fred,  I 
got  a  letter  from  an  uncle  out  West  the  other 


90  ON   A   WESTEEN   CAMPUS. 

day,  asking  me  to  come  out  there  and  live 
with  him.  I  know  the  fellows  will  quiz  you, 
so  I  won't  tell  you  just  where  I  am  going,  but 
I  shall  never  be  back  again.  I  thought  I  had 
better  say  nothing  about  this  before  the  play, 
as  it  would  only  trouble  you ;  but  my  uncle 
told  me  to  come  as  soon  as  possible,  and  I 
wrote  him  that  I  would  start  to-night,  so  I  am 
going  to  pack  up  my  things,  and  go  on  the 
eleven  o'clock  'flyer.'  Please  inform  the 
President  to-morrow,  but  tell  htm  that  you 
know  nothing  definite  about  my  destination, 
and  do  not  understand  my  purpose  in  leaving. 
But  above  all  never  say  a  word  to  any  of  the 
boys  about  this." 

To  all  Fred's  entreaties  to  wait  a  day  or 
two,  Jack  would  only  reply  that  he  could  not 
disappoint  those  who  were  expecting  him. 
There  was  a  determined  look  on  Jack's  face 
which  Fred  had  not  seen  there  before,  so  he 
did  not  say  another  word,  but  thinking  that 
Jack  had  some  trouble  which  ho  could  not  tell, 
he  almost  reproached  himself  for  being  so  self- 
ish that  even  his  room-mate  would  not  make 
a  confidant  of  him.     At  half-past  ten  the  two 


Above   all,  never    say  a    word    to    any    of  the    boys 
about    this." 


Page   90. 


JACK   DUMBAUGH.  91 

boys  went  down  to  the  depot.  Fred  was  afraid 
to  trust  himself  to  say  anything.  As  the  train 
was  pulling  out  Jack  caught  his  room-mate's 
hand  in  a  firm  grip  and  said:  "Fred,  you  have 
been  a  true  friend  to  me.  If  I  can  I'll  write 
you.  God  forgive  me  if  I  have  done  you  any 
harm."  Then  the  train  was  off  and  Fred 
stood  watching  it  till  he  could  no  longer  dis- 
tinguished the  two  red  lights  at  the  rear. 

The  next  morning  Fred  went  to  the  President 
and  told  him  that  Dumbaugh  had  left  school, 
without  giving  any  explanation  of  his 
action.  As  soon  as  Jack's  departure  was 
known,  the  most  intense  interest  was  aroused, 
and  a  great  variety  of  theories  was  adduced  to 
explain  it.  About  a  week  later  a  group  of 
boys  were  gathered  in  Fred's  room  discussing 
the  topic  they  could  not  drop  from  their 
thoughts. 

"I'll  bet  you,"  said  "Nick"  Trevers,  "that 
Dumbaugh  had  a  girl  somewhere  around,  and 
he  got  so  homesick  that  he  couldn't  stand  it; 
so  after  his  success  here,  he  thought  he'd  go 
and  tell  her  about  it ;  ten  to  one  it  was  back 
in  Ohio  where  he  went  to  school." 


92  ON  A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

"Yes,  he  did  act  like  a  love-sick  looney, 
didn't  he,"  added  Bartlett.  "You  couldn't 
get  him  to  look  at  a  girl  once  a  fortnight." 

"No,"  interjected  Crane,  "that  man  had 
something  more  than  love  affairs  on  the  brain. 
I  have  played  foot-ball  four  years,  and  I  know 
that  when  a  man  acts  as  Dumbaugh  did  oc- 
casionally, there  is  something  more  serious 
the  trouble  with  him.  But  I  can't  see 
through  it." 

After  they  had  gone,  Fred  sat  down  in 
Jack's  old  rocker,  and  took  from  his  pocket  a 
letter  already  worn,  which,  with  a  heavy 
heart,  he  read  once  more. 

Denver,  Col.,  May  21st,  189—. 
Dear  Fred: — 

I  must  tell  you  my  whole  story  so  that  you 
can  understand  my  actions  at  school  and  my 
reasons  for  leaving,  for  I  am  sure  that  you 
never  suspected  anything  of  what  I  am  going 
to  tell  you. 

My  grandfather  was  an  habitual  user  of  mor- 
phine and  died  from  the  effects  of  the  habit. 
My  father,  however,  although  he  inherited  the 
desire  for  it,  had  sufficient  moral  courage  to 
resist;  but  I  had  not,  and  began  to  use  it 
when  I  was  fifteen.  Just  before  my  eighteenth 


JACK   DUMBAUGH.  93 

birthday,  father  heard  that  I  was  using  the 
drug,  and  he  was  so  angry  that  he  would  not 
let  me  live  in  the  house.  He  promised  me 
$500  a  year,  and  more,  if  I  needed  it,  but  told 
me  to  go  somewhere  and  get  rid  of  my  cursed 
habit.  I  thought  that  I  had  plenty  of  will- 
power and  could  do  it  easily,  so,  as  I  told  you, 
I  went  to  a  college  near  home  for  two  years, 
but  did  not  dare  go  home,  for  I  could  not 
break  myself  of  the  habit  entirely,  though 
using  smaller  and  smaller  quantities.  On 
the  advice  of  a  physician,  I  made  a  change 
at  the  close  of  the  two  years,  thinking  that, 
by  so  doing,  I  might  get  some  strength. 
Last  fall  I  used  very  little  of  the  drug  but 
occasionally  before  a  game,  I  would  take 
enough  to  brace  me  up.  When  I  came  to  the 
play,  the  strain  was  too  great,  and  I  had  been 
taking  morphine  regularly,  since  the  re- 
hearsals began.  Just  before  the  play,  I  took 
a  heavy  dose,  enough,  as  I  thought,  to  influ- 
ence me  during  the  evening,  but  after  the  first 
act  I  felt  weak  and  had  just  taken  more  when 
you  found  me  in  the  dressing-room.  Then  I 
realized  that  if  I  stayed  there  much  longer,  I 
would  become  so  dependent  upon  it  that  my 
use  of  it  must  be  discovered,  and  I  decided  to 
come  out  here  to  a  private  sanitarium  in 
charge  of  an  old  friend  of  my  father's.  The 
story  about  my  uncle  was,  as  you  will  see,  en- 


94  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

tirely  fictitious,  but  I  could  not  tell  you  the 
awful  truth.  I  am  doing  as  well  as  possible. 
The  physician  says  that  there  is  a  good  chance 
of  my  getting  entirely  cured  of  the  habit,  al- 
though he  has  seldom  treated  anyone  who  be- 
gan to  use  morphine  as  young  as  I  did.  At 
any  rate  I  believe  it  is  my  last  hope.  Don't 
tell  any  of  the  fellows,  for  I  can't  bear  to  have 
them  know  how  weak  I  am.  It  will  not  do 
any  good  to  trace  me,  for  if  I  do  get  well  I 
shall  stay  out  here;  but  don't  forget  me,  Fred. 
I  didn't  intend  to  write  you  such  a  long  let- 
ter, but  I  have  never  before  bared  my  soul  to 
anyone,  and  I  can  trust  you, 

Your  sincere  friend, 

Jack  Dumbaugh. 

For  a  long  time  Fred  sat  staring  at  the  let- 
ter in  his  hand,  thinking  of  the  comments  the 
boys  had  made,  but  at  last  he  spoke  fiercely : 
"Why  couldn't  he  have  told  us!  We  might 
have  helped  him." 

Then  he  twisted  the  letter  up,  and  touching 
a  match  to  it,  threw  it  into  the  grate,  while 
to  his  mind  there  came,  "The  heart  knoweth 
his  own  bitterness." 


In  the  Fall  of   the  Year. 

THE  lengthening  shadows  fell  upon  the  lit- 
tle town  of  Herndon  in  quite  the  usual 
manner,  but  this  evening  the  pulse  of  life 
seemed  to  throb  a  little  faster  than  it  had  for 
several  months,  for  the  summer  sleep  of  the 
college  town  was  over. 

All  day  the  busy  students  had  been  hurry- 
ing along  the  shady  streets,  back  and  forth 
from  the  campus  to  the  various  houses  which 
for  nine  months  in  the  year  they  call  home.  In 
the  changing  crowd  of  gay  young  people  there 
was  talk  of  registration,  new  teachers,  new 
clubs,  and  all  those  innumerable  things  which 
have  a  part  in  the  annual  settling  of  the  stu- 
dents. Sometimes  there  was  an  exchange  of 
vacation  experiences  and  a  few  words  of  regret 
over  some  friend  or  classmate  who  had  not  re- 
turned. But  that  was  among  those  students 
to  whom  the  broad,  straight  streets  were  famil- 
iar; who  knew  the  hitching-post  at  which  old 

(95) 


96  ON"   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

Jennings'  apple-wagon  was  always  tied  when 
he  was  in  town.  They  knew  too  who  those 
orthodox  people  were  who  had  not  as  yet 
abandoned  the  fences  about  their  homes.  Yet 
even  the  old  students  spoke  for  the  most  part 
of  the  new  year  just  opening,  and  altogether 
they  gave  a  sense  of  thorough  awakening  and 
newness  of  life  to  the  streets,  shaded  by  the 
green  arch  of  maple,  locust  and  cotton-wood 
trees. 

In  a  large,  well-kept,  shady  yard,  surround- 
ing a  rambling  brick  house  on  College  street, 
an  old  gentleman  sat  at  a  rustic  table,  which 
he  had  moved  from  its  usual  place  on  the 
porch  to  a  bench  under  the  great  elm  tree. 
More  than  one  group  of  passing  students  had 
looked  in  longingly  at  the  cool,  inviting  shade, 
but  the  Professor  had  placed  his  bench  where 
a  large  clump  of  lilac  and  snow-ball  bushes 
screened  it  from  the  street,  so,  for  the  most 
part,  he  was  unnoticed.  Scattered  all  about 
him  were  books  and  papers,  for  he  had  tried 
to  busy  himself  through  the  warm  afternoon, 
working  over  his  translation  of  Paul's  epistles. 
But  as  he  sat  there  writing  or  turning  the 


IN  THE  FALL  OF  THE  YEAE.       97 

leaves  of  his  reference  books,  there  was  an  air 
of  dejection  in  the  attitude  of  the  bent  figure, 
and  too  often,  with  his  gray  head  thrown 
slightly  back,  he  gazed  absently  up  the  street. 
Any  one  seeing  his  face  once  would  have  felt  an 
impulse  to  look  again.  For  though  worn  and 
wrinkled,  it  had  those  deep,  clear,  gray  eyes  in 
which  the  soul  so  often  appears.  Experience 
of  the  noblest  kind  was  written  there,  yet  to- 
day a  shadow  rested  on  that  usually  placid 
face,  for  this  man  was  passing  through  a  new 
and  sobering  experience. 

For  more  than  a  score  of  years  he  had  been 
connected  with  the  college  up  the  street.  He 
had  filled  the  chair  of  Greek,  and  watched  the 
rapid  development  of  the  school  with  the 
deepest  interest.  Having  that  temperament 
which  drives  a  man  whole-souled  into  the  thing 
nearest,  he  had  given  his  best  life  to  the 
building  up  of  this  college.  But  now  his  part 
in  the  activity  of  it  all  was  over.  He  had  in- 
tended to  extend  his  vacation  into  October, 
but  when  the  second  week  in  September  came, 
he  was  back  in  Herndon.  He  belonged  here. 
He  could  not  stay  away. 


98  OK  A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

A  crowd  of  students  passed  down  the  street, 
keeping  time  to  a  lively  march  which  they 
were  whistling.  They  made  a  gay  company 
as  they  swung  along,  followed  by  the  college 
mascot,  a  ragged  poodle,  decorated  with  the 
college  colors.  A  good-natured  toAvnsman 
passed  them  and  said,  laughing: 

"Here,  don't  paint  the  town  too  red,  boys. 
Not  all  of  a  sudden."  But  he  added  to  him- 
self, "They  don't  know  how  much  good  it 
does  us  all  to  have  'em  back."  Then  looking 
in  toward  the  brick  house,  "I  wonder  if  Mit- 
chell doesn't  feel  a  little  lost  these  days." 

The  lines  in  Professor  Mitchell's  face  deep- 
ened as  he  looked  after  the  boys,  and  he 
pushed  his  work  from  him  impatiently.  But 
in  doing  so  he  shoved  one  of  the  books  off  the 
table.  It  was  the  Bible  and,  smiling  at  his 
own  bitter  thoughts,  the  Professor  leaned  for- 
ward to  pick  it  up.  As  he  did  so  his  eye 
caught  the  words  on  the  open  page,  "But  now 
having  no  more  place  in  these  parts — ".  He 
closed  the  book  almost  roughly,  but  opened  it 
again  half  unconsciously,  trying  to  find  the 
same  line,  while  he  asked  himself  once  more: 


IN  THE  FALL  OF  THE  YEAR.       99 

"Can  I  ever  be  satisfied  to  stop  and  stagnate 
while  all  the  work  goes  on?  Why  must  I  ?" 
Then  in  answer  to  the  thought,  "They  also 
serve  who  only  stand  and  wait,"  he  exclaimed 
aloud:  "That  is  hardly  twentieth  century 
philosophy.  But  it  is  over  now,  and  yet — if  I 
could  only  feel  that  after  all  it  had  really  been 
of  any  use!"  and  the  gray  head  sank  a  little 
lower. 

Suddenly  he  was  conscious  that  a  party  of 
students  had  stopped  on  the  corner  opposite. 
Turning  towards  the  street,  he  heard  the  en- 
thusiastic voice  and  saw  the  bright  face  of  a 
blonde  girl  in  the  conventional  blue  blazer. 
She  was  facing  the  setting  sun  and  saying  in 
a  clear  voice:  "How  lovely!  I'm  so  glad  I 
made  you  stop  to  look.  Do  you  always  have 
such  sunsets  in  Herndon?" 

"That  is  fine,"  admitted  the  short  dark  fel- 
low who  had  been  her  companion  as  they  came 
up  the  street.  "I  suppose  they  would  all 
pass,  Miss  Taylor,  if  one  ever  had  time  to  look 
at  them.  But  you'll  soon  have  something  else 
to  do." 

Owens,  being  a  Sophomore,  considered  this 


100  ON   A   WESTEKN   CAMPUS. 

to  be  the  correct  way  to  impress  new  students. 
However,  the  little  blonde  did  not  seem  to  be 
impressed,  but  went  on  with  what  Owens  con- 
sidered the  naive  rapture  of  the  unsophisti- 
cated. Still  he  smiled  assent  for  she  was 
such  a  pretty  girl,  and  she  made  a  lovely  pic- 
ture of  youthful  enthusiasm  as  she  stood  a 
little  apart  from  her  companions,  gazing  down 
the  wide,  shaded  street,  where  the  glorious 
light  of  the  Iowa  sunset  was  turning  the 
leaves  to  gold,  and  making  the  arc  lights 
gleam  like  balls  of  fire.  Out  beyond  the  tree- 
bordered  street,  she  saw  the  broad  prairie, 
rolling  out  to  meet  the  splendor  of  the  west- 
ern sky,  a  molten  mass  of  colors  shading  into 
opal  tints,  and  the  indescribable  beauty  of  the 
sunset  glow  enchanted  her.  But  Professor 
Mitchell  looked  with  admiration  at  the  girl  as 
she  stood  there  in  the  reflected  light,  her 
slight  figure  so  full  of  life,  and  not  till  she 
turned  again  to  her  companions  did  he  resume 
his  work,  letting  his  fingers  beat  a  nervous 
tattoo  on  the  edge  of  the  table. 

"While  Leonore  Taylor  and  Frank  Owens  had 
been  discussing  the  sunset,  a  girl  wearing  the 


IN  THE  FALL  OF  THE  YEAE.      101 

scarlet  badge  of  the  Reception  Committee  had 
tried  to  entertain  the  other  member  of  the 
party — young  Taylor,  who  was  getting  his  first 
impressions  of  Hawkeye.  She  was  chatting 
about  the  Y.  M.  and  Y.  W.  C.  A.  reception 
and  what  the  prospects  were  of  knowing  any 
one  on  Monday  whom  you  had  met  Saturday 
night.  But  at  the  same  time  she  had  been 
watching  the  progress  of  a  tall  fellow  in  a 
gray  suit,  who  was  coming  rapidly  down  the 
street  toward  them.  Now  she  stepped  for- 
ward to  meet  him  and  offered  her  hand  with  a 
bright  smile,  saying:  "Mr.  Berry,  I'm  very 
glad  to  see  you.     When  did  you  get  back?" 

"I  came  down  on  the  Central  just  now. 
Think  every  one  came  down  on  that  train  or 
met  it.  There  was  a  bigger  jam  than  usual. 
I  looked  for  you  but  didn't  see  you ;  supposed 
you  were  piloting  some  new  people,  so — " 

"You  remind  me!  We  have  two  new  Fresh- 
men here  and  are  on  our  way  to  supper.  I'll 
introduce  you." 

As  they  turned  to  the  others  the  Senior  and 
Sophomore  shook  hands  so  heartily  that  Tay- 
lor,  the  new  Freshman,   wished  he  was  not 


102  OK   A    WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

quite  so  new.  But  he  felt  better  when,  after 
the  introductions,  Owens  said:  "This  is  Dick 
Maxwell's  friend,  who  is  going  to  do  some- 
thing for  us  in  athletics."  And  the  Senior 
turned  on  him  an  interested  and  approving 
stare,  saying,  "Oh,  yes!  Dick  wrote  me  about 
your  coming  down.  We  need  all  you  new 
men  and  we'll  count  on  your  filling  Dick's 
place."  Then  to  the  others,  "What's  the  dis- 
cussion?" 

"Nothing,  only  Mr.  Owens  was  trying  to 
show  Herndon  scenery  to  our  prot6g6s  in- 
stead of  taking  them  to  supper.  I  suggest  we 
go  on." 

"Well,  Frank  needn't  be  in  too  much  of  a 
hurry  about  showing  off  our  scenery.  We  may 
have  what  some  one  called,  'The  splendid 
scenery  of  the  sky,'  but  as  Miss  Kimball  said 
last  year,  'People  generally  find  no  trouble 
about  taking  in  most  of  the  scenery  around 
here  during  their  first  year. '  You  can  appre- 
ciate the  fine  irony  of  that  remark  later  in  the 
year,  Miss  Taylor." 

Then  the  party  strolled  up  the  street,  but 
were  stopped  directly  opposite  the  lilac  bushes 


IN   THE   FALL  OF  THE   YEAR.  103 

by  a  boyish  looking,  blue-eyed  youth,  who  ap- 
peared suddenly  amid  a  great  racket  of  whir- 
ring wheels,  bicycle  bell  and  a  wild-cat  whistle. 
He  leaned  his  wheel  against  a  convenient  tree 
and,  after  politely  doing  his  duty  to  the  others 
of  the  party,  threw  himself  impulsively  on  the 
Senior.  Berry  put  one  arm  around  him  and 
patted  him  on  the  head  as  he  said : 

"Well,  well,  Clark!  I  wondered  that  the 
omnipresent  Prep  hadn't  appeared  before. 
Oh  there  now,  don't  look  so  injured.  It  is  a 
Freshman.  And  just  think,  you  won't  have  a 
chance  to  exercise  that  pull  you  used  to  brag 
about  so  modestly.  How  many  new  Profs 
there  are!     Have  you  met  any  of  'em?" 

By  this  time  the  ex-Prep  had  wriggled  away 
and  composed  himself.  But  now  he  made  a 
wry  face,  struck  an  attitude  and  answered: 

"Not  I!  I'll  put  off  the  evil  day  as  long  as 
possible." 

But  Berry  was  looking  in  toward  the  brick 
house  and  at  last  he  said : 

"Beally,  people,  talking  about  new  Profs, 
I  can't  help  thinking  about  what  we  have  lost 
and  what  these  new  people  have  missed." 


104  ON   A   WESTEEN   CAMPUS. 

"Now  I  say,"  groaned  Clark,  "what  have 
we  done  to  deserve  this, — and  so  soon?  I  see 
he  is  about  to  mount  his  hobby  and  his  'high 
seriousness'  is  more  than  I  can  bear.  I  beg  to 
be  excused."  And  with  an  all-including  wave 
of  his  cap,  he  swung  himself  upon  his  wheel 
and  departed  as  hastily  as  he  had  come. 

They  all  laughed  as  they  looked  after  him 
and  the  Senior  would  have  followed  him,  but 
Miss  Taylor  exclaimed: 

"Oh  tell  us  about  your  hobby  any  way! 
What  or  whom  have  we  missed?" 

Berry  smiled  and  said: 

"Clark  always  groans  over  my  extreme  ad- 
miration for  Professor  Mitchell.  But  he  can't 
say  anything  against  him.  You  ought  to  hear 
him  try!  It's  all  his  way.  He  really  thinks 
just  as  I  do.  Prof  lives  in  here,"  turning  his 
head  toward  the  brick  house.  "Used  to  be 
the  Greek  Professor.  He  has  been  here  a  long 
time  and  has  just  about  half  made  the  college. 
He  has  influenced  more  students  and  done 
more  real  good  than  any  one  man  I  ever  knew. 
What  I  was  thinking  was,  that,  though  the 
new  Prof    may  teach  the  'Freshies'  to  scan 


IN   THE    FALL   OF  THE   TEAE.  105 

Homer,  etc.,  in  quite  the  same  way,  it  will  be 
a  long  time  before  we  find  anybody  who  will 
teach  the  'Menschen-Liebe'  that  he  used  to 
throw  in.  You'll  never  know  just  what  you 
missed  by  not  coming  before  his  day  was 
over. " 

As  Berry  paused  almost  out  of  breath  after 
his  outburst  of  "high  seriousness",  Gertrude 
Manning  said : 

"Oh  don't  say  'his  day  is  over'  in  that  tone. 
Of  course  we're  all  sorry  to  have  him  quit  ac- 
tive work,  but  think  of  the  spirit  he  has  put 
into  old  Hawkeye.  Haven't  you  ever  noticed 
that  the  very  books  he  has  put  into  the 
Library  with  those  'exam'  fees,  which  he  al- 
ways looked  apologies  for  collecting,  are  full 
of  him — the  things  he  loved  best?  He  didn't 
always  buy  for  his  own  department  either! 
And,  as  you  said  yourself,  he  has  influenced 
so  many  people.     His  day  isn't  over!" 

"Well  I  guess  you're  right,  Gertrude, — you 
mostly  are.  At  least  I'd  better  say  so  now, 
for  between  the  sunset  and  an  argument  our 
friends  won't  get  their  supper.  The  sight  of 
Clark  has  reminded  me  that  I  promised  to 


106  OK   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

meet  some  fellows  down  town  at  six,  and  I'm 
late  now.  Bring  Taylor  over  to  the  room  after 
supper,  Frank;  the  new  coach  is  going  to  be 
there  and  I  want  the  fellows  to  meet  him." 
And  tipping  his  gray  cap  he  was  off  down  the 
street  whistling  "Co-ed." 

It  had  been  only  a  little  thing,  this  meeting 
on  the  corner.  But  as  the  students  walked  up 
toward  the  "club,"  the  tea-bell  rang  in  the 
brick  house,  and  the  old  man,  who  mounted 
the  steps  in  answer  to  its  summons,  looked 
satisfied. 


Brainard's  Transformation. 

PAUL  BRAINARD  was  probably  about  as 
conceited  a  person  as  anyone  whose 
name  had  been  entered  on  the  Registrar's 
books  since  the  founding  of  Hawkeye  College. 
In  truth  his  conceit  was  colossal.  But  in  the 
second  semester  of  his  sophomore  year  a 
change  came  over  him,  and  when  it  was  seen 
that  the  change  was  permanent  it  became  a 
much  mooted  question,  what  had  caused 
Brainard's  transformation. 

It  happened  in  this  way.  It  was  Thursday 
noon.  The  daily  grind  was  again  over,  and 
as  he  had  been  more  than  usually  fortunate  in 
escaping  flunks  that  forenoon,  he  was  enjoying 
to  the  fullest  extent  the  bracing  February  air 
in  the  bright  sunshine,  as  he  walked  from  the 
campus  to  his  room.  He  was  not  enough  of  a 
philosopher  to  define  his  view  of  life,  but  if  he 
had  been  able  to  put  it  into  words  it  would  have 
been  found  that  he  considered  an  indefinite 

(107) 


108  OK   A    WESTEKN   CAMPUS. 

something  given  to  him,  out  of  which  he  was 
proposing  to  get  a  maximum  of  pleasure  with 
a  minimum  of  effort.  And  so  it  was  entirely 
in  accordance  with  his  nature  that,  as  he 
passed  along  the  street,  he  should  feel  that  all 
the  beauties  of  this  winter  day  were  intended 
principally  for  his  benefit;  and  also  that  it 
should  suddenly  strike  him,  as  it  often  did, 
that  he  was  a  pretty  good  sort  of  a  fellow, 
take  him  any  way  you  pleased.  He  drew  his 
shoulders  back,  tilted  his  cap  a  little  more  to 
one  side,  in  order  that  his  black  curls  might 
show  to  a  better  advantage,  and  smiled  from 
pure  joy  in  his  own  personal  appearance.  He 
wished  that  he  might  meet  that  junior  girl 
who  had  so  deliberately  "bagged"  him  at  the 
time  of  the  last  lecture,  and  he  resolved  to  go 
into  Chapel  late  the  next  morning  to  attract 
her  attention  to  his  good  looks.  So  impressed 
was  he  with  his  own  importance,  that  he  failed 
to  recognize  a  Prep,  whom  he  met  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  leading  to  his  room;  and  the 
Prep  was  so  very  young  and  inexperienced  in 
the  ways  of  the  college  world,  that  he  consid- 
ered this  lack  of  notice  as  the  thing  to  be  ex- 


BRAINARD'S  TRANSFORMATION".  109 

pected  as  a  matter  of  course  from  all  college 
men. 

Brainard  mounted  the  stairs,  entered  his 
room,  and  throwing  his  overcoat,  hat  and 
books  on  a  couch  sank  into  a  willow  chair  with 
a  sigh  of  content.  He  and  his  room-mate,  Bob 
NeAvbold,  occupied  a  room  in  a  house  not  far 
from  the  campus  and  it  was  furnished  with 
rather  more  elegance  than  is  usual  in  a  boy's 
room  in  a  Western  college  town.  As  he  sat  in 
his  easy  chair,  he  surveyed  the  room  approv- 
ingly. In  the  center  of  a  Turkish  rug  stood 
a  small  table,  upon  which  lay  a  couple  of 
meerschaum  pipes,  a  box  of  Yale  Mixture, 
several  copies  of  Mwisey's,  a  hand-mirror,  and 
a  deck  of  cards.  At  one  end  of  the  room  hung 
dark  brown  chenille  curtains  which  half  hid 
the  bed  and  the  bureau,  and  upon  which  were 
pinned  various  souvenirs  of  class  parties  with 
concert  and  field-day  programs.  The  walls 
were  covered  with  photographs,  half-tones  of 
the  college  athletic  teams,  and  snap  shots  of 
various  scenes  of  college  life,  while  twined 
around  all  were  the  college  colors,  giving  a 
touch  of  brilliancy  to  the  otherwise  dull  back- 


110  ON   A   AVESTERN   CAMPUS. 

ground.  In  a  corner  stood  a  couple  of  tennis 
rackets  and  a  guitar  also  decorated  with  the 
college  ribbons,  while  in  every  chair,  on  the 
couch,  and  on  the  floor  near  the  window,  were 
pillows  of  all  shapes,  sizes,  and  stuffing.  To 
Brainard  these  were  closely  associated  with 
some  of  the  faces  looking  down  from  the 
walls,  most  of  them  being  gifts  from  some  of 
his  "old  girls".  His  glance  wandered  across 
to  the  opposite  corner  where  his  room-mate's 
desk  stood,  and  he  vaguely  wondered  why  Bob 
did  not  put  some  of  his  pictures  on  the  wall 
instead  of  sticking  them  in  pigeon-holes,  en- 
tirely forgetting  that  he  himself  had  so 
monopolized  the  wall  space  that  there  would 
be  no  other  alternative,  than  to  sky  them  like 
the  work  of  unknown  artists  at  the  exhibi- 
tions. He  looked  at  his  watch, and  finding  that 
it  was  already  past  dinner  time,  he  jumped  up 
hastily  and  started  to  put  on  his  overcoat ;  but 
as  he  turned  around  an  unopened  letter  lying 
on  his  desk  attracted  his  attention.  Crossing 
over  quickly  he  picked  it  up.  He  saw  that  it 
was  from  his  mother  and,  opening  carelessly, 
he  read: 


brainard's  transformation.       Ill 

Wapello,  Wednesday,  Feb.  11,  189—. 
My  Dear  Paul : — 

I  have  not  heard  from  you  for  some  time, 
but  I  know  that  you  are  so  busy  with  your 
studies  that  your  time  is  limited.  I,  too,  am 
very  busy  but  I  think  of  you  every  day,  and 
often  wish  I  might  run  in  now  and  then  and 
see  you.  We  have  just  had  a  very  heavy  fall 
of  snow,  the  trees  in  the  yard  are  drifted  full, 
and  the  branches  bend  under  the  load.  It 
makes  me  think  of  the  times  when  you  were  a 
little  boy,  and  used  to  enjoy,  so  much,  shovel- 
ling paths  and  building  snow  houses  in  the 
drifts. 

I  received  some  very  sad  news  this  morning, 
which  also  made  me  think  of  your  boyhood 
and  your  playmates.  I  heard  only  a  little 
while  ago  that  Laura  Gardner  was  dead.  She 
died  at  about  one  o'clock  this  morning.  Her 
death  was  entirely  unexpected,  as  she  had 
been  ill  but  a  few  days,  with  what  was  sup- 
posed to  be  intermittent  fever  but  which  the 
doctors  now  think  to  have  been  typhoid.  I 
am  very  sorry  for  her  poor  mother.  I  will 
go  over  to-day  to  see  her.  Laura  is  to  be 
buried  on   Friday,  services   at  the  church 

He  could  read  no  more.  A  torrent  of  recol- 
lections of  his  childhood  poured  in  upon  him, 


112  ON"   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

and  crumpling  the  trembling  paper  in  his 
hand,  he  turned  to  his  easy  chair,  and  sinking 
into  it  sat  gazing  out  of  the  window  at  the 
house  across  the  street. 

As  he  gazed,  his  surroundings  seemed  to 
fade  away  and  he  found  himself  again  living 
his  boyhood.  He  saw  again  the  quiet  farm- 
house, standing  half-hidden  by  the  trees,  in 
the  midst  of  the  velvety  lawn  with  its  patches 
of  sunlight  and  shadow.  He  could  see  the 
great,  rambling  barns  with  their  hot,  dusty 
mows  filled  to  the  eaves  with  the  fragrant 
prairie  hay;  he  could  see  the  cool,  shady 
grove,  and  the  creek  winding  about  under  the 
willows,  where  the  rippling  water,  the  sighing 
wind,  the  rustling  leaves,  the  far  away,  mourn- 
ful coo  of  the  turtle  dove,  the  occasional 
drumming  of  the  woodpecker,  and  the  monot- 
onous buzzing  of  insects,  united  to  form  a  har- 
mony and  rhythm  knoAvn  to  no  other  music 
than  Nature's.  He  recalled  the  broad  ex- 
panse of  sky  as  seen  from  the  meadow, 
whence,  on  summer  evenings,  one  could  watch 
the  sun  go  down,  and  trace  the  almost  imper- 
ceptible fading  of  color  until  only  a  few  light- 


brainard's  transformation.        113 

tinged  clouds  were  visible,  where  but  a  short 
time  before  there  had  gleamed  a  crimson 
glory.  And  into  all  these  pictures  of  the  past, 
there  came  the  face  and  form  of  a  brown- 
haired  lassie — Laura — his  playmate. 

A  flapping  screen  on  one  of  the  windows  of 
the  house  across  the  street  caught  his  eye,  and 
he  wondered  why  the  people  did  not  take 
down  their  screens  in  the  winter  time  or,  if 
they  would  leave  them  up,  why  they  did  not 
at  least  fix  them  so  that  the  wind  could  not 
blow  them  about.  Then  his  thoughts  drifted 
back  into  reverie. 

Playmates — yes — what  happy  times  they  had, 
playing  together  day  after  day,  running  races 
on  the  lawn  until  they  were  tired,  and  then 
swinging  in  the  hammock  with  the  summer 
breeze  fanning  their  flushed  cheeks.  He  re- 
membered how  on  clear  moonlight  nights  they 
used  to  sit  on  the  rustic  bench  under  the  big 
evergreen,  watching  the  stars  and  counting 
the  meteors,  as  they  shot  for  a  moment  into 
sight,  and  then  disappeared  into  darkness ;  and 
he  seemed  to  hear  again  Laura's  little  scream 
of  delight  whenever  she  saw  one  first.     He 


114  ON   A    WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

thought  of  the  hide-and-seek  in  the  barn  on 
rainy  days ;  of  the  fun  they  had  jumping  from 
the  big  beams  into  the  soft  hay;  how  once 
Laura  had  slipped  and  fallen  into  a  dark  oat- 
bin,  and  he  had  impetuously  plunged  in  after, 
where  they  remained  in  mutual  terror  until 
rescued  by  one  of  the  work-hands.  He 
thought  of  the  hot,  sultry  afternoons  spent 
under  the  willows  by  the  bend  of  the  creek, 
building  houses  by  packing  the  damp  sand 
around,  their  bare  feet,  and  constructing  forts 
garrisoned  by  companies  of  sticks,  with  corn- 
cobs for  cannon,  and  pebbles  for  ammunition. 
He  thought  of  their  tent  under  the  hemlock 
trees  by  the  big  boulder,  where  they  played  at 
being  Indians,  and  feasted  on  dainties  procured 
by  stealth  from  their  mothers'  pantries.  He 
thought  of  the  long  tramps  over  the 'meadows 
to  the  spring,  gathering  the  beautiful  wild 
flowers, — tiger-lilies,  phlox,  and  golden-rod — 
to  make  bouquets  to  appease  the  wrath  of 
anxious  mothers. 

And  this  girl,  just  blooming  into  woman- 
hood, with  all  the  possibilties  of  a  noble  life 
before  her,  was  dead.     Yes,  dead!     And   it 


brainard's  transformation.        115 

seemed  to  break  the  last  link  between  him  and 
his  own  past.  That  sunny  face  glowing  with 
health,  was  now  ashen  and  cold;  those  laugh- 
ing eyes  were  glazed.     What  did  it  mean? 

For  a  long  time  he  sat  musing,  lost  in  con- 
templation of  the  reality  of  death,  brought 
home  to  him  now  as  never  before.  His  reverie 
was  suddenly  ended  by  the  arrival  of  his  room- 
mate, who  came  rushing  up  the  stairs,  three 
steps  at  a  time,  and  burst  into  the  room  with : 

"Look  a'  here,  you  confounded  idiot,  what 
in  the  deuce  's  the  matter  with  you,  that  you 
didn't  come  to  dinner?"  And  then  seeing  the 
letter,  "Old  man  given  you  the  g.  b.,  eh?" 

Paul  looked  up  with  a  half  smile  and  said, 
"No.  Just  got  some  bad  news — girl  I  used  to 
know  died  yesterday.  Been  dreaming  I  guess." 

That  afternoon  he  packed  a  few  things  in  his 
grip  and  quietly  announced  to  the  astounded 
Bob,  that  he  was  going  home  on  the  evening- 
train;  that  he  didn't  have  to  go;  that  Prex 
knew  he  was  going  and  had  excused  him ;  and 
that  he  would  be  back  in  a  few  days.  The  latter 
in  answer  to  questions. 


116  ON    A    WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

A  delayed  train  caused  him  to  miss  connec- 
tions and  prevented  his  arrival  in  time  for  the 
funeral.  But  the  day  after,  he  went  over  to 
the  little  cemetery  on  the  bleak  hill-side.  The 
new-made  grave  showed  distinctly,  a  black 
mound  of  earth  standing  out  in  marked  con- 
trast to  the  ghostly  whiteness  of  the  snow  cov- 
ered prairies.  Crawling  through  the  barbed- 
wire  fence  he  made  his  way  to  it.  All  around, 
the  trampled  snow  gave  mute  evidence  of  the 
good- will  of  the  country  people  toward  Laura. 
For  the  day  of  the  funeral  had  been  dark, 
threatening  and  bitterly  cold,  and  the  tracks 
showed  that  many  had  braved  the  weather  to 
witness  the  last  sad  rites. 

There  beneath  a  weight  of  frozen  earth,  lay 
the  form  of  Laura  Gardner,  shut  out  from  the 
warmth  and  comfort  of  life  forever — forever — 
eternity.  A  shadowy  conception  of  the  vastness 
of  the  term  began  to  steal  over  him  and  he  began 
to  see  the  insignificance  of  the  individual  and 
the  omnipotence  of  the  Infinite. 

He  began  to  see  how  men  could  "die  every 
minute — forgotten — swept  into  heaps  like 
autumn    leaves,   their    lives    mere    soil   and 


So  he  stood  with  bowed  head- 


brainard's  transformation.       117 

foothold  for  the  generations  that  come  after 
them." 

And  there  in  his  soul  he  fought  out  a  battle 
between  the  selfishness  of  his  nature  which 
had  grown  unconsciously,  until  it  had  become 
a  part  of  himself;  and  altruism  now  for  the 
first  time  became  more  than  a  mere  word  to 
him.  Altruism,  which  commanded  a  recogni- 
tion of  the  rights  of  others  and  a  life  devoted 
to  their  welfare.  So  he  stood  with  bowed 
head  until  the  dusk  began  to  shade  into  dark- 
ness. Finally  his  meditation  was  broken  by 
the  jingle  of  sleigh-bells  and  the  crunch  of  the 
runners  cutting  through  the  snow.  After  the 
sleigh  had  passed,  he  laid  on  the  grave  a  sprig 
of  holly,  that  Laura  had  loved  so  well,  and 
then  turned  quickly  away. 

On  Monday,  after  an  affectionate  farewell  to 
his  mother,  he  returned  to  college.  All 
through  the  long  journey,  the  throb  of  the 
engine,  the  rattle  of  the  cars,  the  clickity- 
clack,  clickity-clack  of  the  wheels,  seemed  but 
an  accompaniment  to  his  reveries.  He  did 
not  notice  the  sunless  landscape,  as  it  racep 
past  the  car  windows,  until  he  neared  the  col- 


118  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

lege  town.  Then  as  he  came  in  sight  of  the 
college  buildings,  there  dawned  upon  him  a 
fuller  realization  of  the  meaning  of  the  change 
that  had  come  over  him,  its  relation  to  his 
daily  life,  and  the  difficulties  he  would  have  to 
meet  in  trying  to  live  up  to  his  new  ideals. 
For  a  moment  his  decision  wavered.  It  would 
be  so  much  easier  to  go  back  and  live  the  old 
life  outwardly,  justifying  himself  by  his  in- 
ward change  for  the  better,  and  waiting  for 
time  to  bring  about  the  outward  change.  But 
it  was  only  for  a  moment  that  he  hesitated, 
for  there  came  to  him  the  memory  of  a  new- 
made  grave  and  a  bleak,  wind-swept  hill-side, 
and  with  that  memory,  the  battle  he  had 
fought  there.  He  left  the  train  with  a 
stronger  resolution  than  before,  to  live  an  un- 
selfish life. 

He  never  told  of  the  circumstances  that  led 
to  the  change,  but  as  time  went  on,  everyone 
came  to  know  and  rejoice  in  Brainard's  trans- 
formation. 


III. 

RECREATION. 


Winning  the  Emblem. 

*  f\/ES,  we  must  get  the  Meet  to-day,  for 
I  that  'State  Cup'  looks  a  pile  better  up 
in  Hawkeye  College  Library  than  it  would  any 
where  else  in  the  state." 

"That's  right,  Fred,  it  does,"  replied 
"Spike"  English,  "and  we  don't  want  to  be 
the  fellows  to  let  it  go  either." 

The  two  boys  were  riding  in  the  Rock-Island 
flyer  bound  for  the  Iowa  Capitol.  Two  long 
strips  of  canvas  outside  the  car,  bearing  in 
scarlet  and  black  lettering  the  words  "Hawk- 
eye  College  Track  Team,"  sufficiently  adver- 
tised the  occupants  to  every  farm  house  and 
village  as  the  train  sped  along ;  while  the  team, 
and  the  two  hundred  students  accompanying 
them  to  the  State  Meet,  took  advantage  of  the 
one  stop  to  throw  up  the  windows  of  their 
coaches,  and  give  a  rousing  college  yell  to  the 
crowd  around  the  low  brick  station. 

Durnham  had  changed  somewhat    in    the 

(121) 


122  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

year  since  Dumbaugh  had  left,  but  he  was  still 
the  irrepressible  Fred.  He  had  not  met  with 
much  success  in  his  athletic  attempts  during 
his  sophomore  year;  in  fact  some  of  those 
supercilious  beings  who  are,  themselves,  too 
lazy  to  train,  but  are  always  trying  to  discour- 
age a  fellow  unless  he  can  beat  a  state  record 
after  three  months'  training,  advised  him  to 
give  it  up  and  rest  awhile.  Fred  took  their 
chaffing  good-naturedly,  however,  and  kept 
pegging  away,  so  that  in  his  second  season  he 
had  worked  into  pretty  good  form.  "Spike" 
English  gave  him  a  deal  of  help.  "Spike" 
was  a  heavy-set  man,  whom  two  years  of  foot- 
ball had  pounded  into  as  solid  a  specimen  as 
any  one  would  care  to  run  up  against,  and  his 
wind  was  perfect.  Though  Fred  could  keep 
close  behind  him  every  night  in  practice,  he 
had  never  been  able  to  beat  him,  so  that  the 
boys  nicknamed  him  "Spike's  Shadow". 
There  was  only  one  fault  with  "Spike" ;  he  ran 
too  "heavy",  so  that  his  ankles  were  apt  to 
trouble  him  in  the  final  sprint,  but  he  had 
been  very  careful  during  the  week  before  the 
Meet,  and  did  not  anticipate  any  trouble  from 


WINNING  THE   EMBLEM.  123 

them.  In  talking  over  the  events,  however, 
the  boys  agreed  that  "Spike"  should  set  the 
pace  in  both  the  "half"  and  the  "mile", 
though  Fred  was  to  stick  right  by  him  up  to 
the  finish.  There  was  not  the  least  rivalry  be- 
tween them,  when  they  came  to  an  intercol- 
legiate contest;  either  one  would  work  to  give 
his  mate  a  better  chance  for  a  place. 

While  they  were  discussing  these  points,  Capt. 
Trevers  came  up  to  them.  "Plotting  again,  I 
see,"  he  said,  taking  a  seat  on  the  arm  of  the 
chair.  "Well,  that  is  a  good  sign,  seven  points 
in  two  events  'cinched'  if  Fred  doesn't  get  run 
off  his  legs  on  the  home  stretch,  and  won't  he 
feel  swell  with  that  'H'  on  his  sweater." 

As  they  were  nearing  East  Des  Moines,  at 
the  very  out  skirts  of  the  city,  they  could 
make  out  the  long,  low  sheds  of  the  Fair 
Grounds,  where  the  afternoon  games  were  to 
be  held ;  then  on  a  hill  off  to  the  North  they 
got  a  view  of  the  State  Capitol  with  its  gilded 
dome. 

At  the  depot  the  team  immediately  packed 
themselves  and  their  grips  into  two  'buses  and 
hurried  to  the  Kirkwood,  impartially  decorated 


124  ON   A   WESTEBN   CAMPUS. 

with  the  colors  of  the  half  dozen  competing 
colleges,  where  they  proceeded  to  stow  away  a 
good  amount  of  roast  beef,  potatoes,  toast,  and 
oranges.  Eay  Howell,  the  only  fellow  on  the 
team  who  refused  to  board  at  the  training 
table,  called  for  pie  as  usual,  and  his  request 
was  met  by  so  much  raillery  that  he  offered  to 
bet  "the  pie"  with  every  fellow  on  the  team, 
that  he  would  put  the  shot  over  thirty-six  feet 
in  the  afternoon,  and  his  bet  was  readily 
taken. 

Dinner  over,  the  boys  loafed  around  the  cor- 
ridors for  a  while,  guessing  at  the  scores  the 
different  colleges  would  make,  and  striking  up 
acquaintances  with  the  men  from  Phillips  Col- 
lege, who  also  had  their  headquarters  at  the 
Kirkwood ;  but  they  were  glad  when  it  came 
time  to  go  to  the  field.  As  they  drove  out 
Grand  Avenue  and  over  the  bridge,  they 
passed  many  groups  of  students  and  alumni 
wearing  their  colors,  and  leaning  out  of  the 
'bus  windows,  the  team  made  the  street  ring 
with  the  Hawkeye  yells.  The  amphitheater 
presented  a  gay  scene  as  they  entered  the 
grounds.     Long  stretches  of  white  and  blue, 


WINNING   THE   EMBLEM.  125 

cardinal,  purple,  and  scarlet  and  black  bunt- 
ing fluttered  from  every  post  and  cross-piece 
in  the  grand  stand. 

"Now  every  man  get  around  to  our  quar- 
ters and  keep  low  until  his  event,"  said 
Coach  "Mike"  Stevens  as  the  boys  jumped 
out  of  the  buses.  The  boys  soon  found  the 
dressing-room  under  the  grand  stand  with  the 
scarlet  "H"  over  the  door;  and  most  of  those 
entered  in  the  first  events  stretched  them- 
selves out  at  once  on  the  cots,  while  "Mike" 
and  Trevers  went  around  to  the  group  of 
officials  in  the  judges'  stand  to  find  out  who  of 
the  contestants  entered  were  to  be  "protest- 
ed". "Mike"  was  a  dark-complexioned  man 
of  average  height,  about  thirty-five  years  of 
age,  but  with  all  the  vigor  of  his  college  days. 
He  practiced  medicine  in  Chicago,  but  now 
for  the  second  season  he  had  lelt  his  work  in 
the  spring,  and  come  out  to  coach  Hawkeye's 
track  team  for  a  couple  of  months.  He  had 
a  wonderful  faculty  of  getting  the  most 
out  of  a  team,  and  had  changed  many  a  soft, 
awkward  candidate  into  a  strong,  self-reliant 
athlete,  so  that  the  boys  all  swore  by  "Mike". 


126  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

Just  before  two  o'clock  the  first  call  for  the 
fifty -yard  dash  is  given.  "Nick"  Trevers  and 
Harry  Bartlett  get  into  their  running  togs  and 
hurry  out,  for  "Nick"  wants  to  examine  the 
track  and  pick  out  the  best  places,  trusting  to 
luck  that  Harry  and  he  will  draw  the  right 
numbers.  He  is  not  disappointed  in  the  track 
either.  It  is  in  nearly  as  perfect  condition 
as  one  can  find  short  of  a  cinder  track.  The 
rain  a  few  days  previous  had  beaten  it  down, 
while  the  June  sun,  warm,  but  not  hot 
enough  to  bake  it,  had  left  it  as  smooth  and 
springy  as  the  most  exacting  track  captain 
could  wish.  "If  the  wind  keeps  down,  there 
will  be  some  records  smashed,"  he  says  to 
Harry.  Harry  grins  for  answer;  he  is  an  irre- 
sponsible youth,  no  slouch,  however,  when  it 
comes  to  getting  over  ground  in  short  order. 
He  has  been  watching  the  crowd  in  the  grand 
stand,  by  this  time  packed  from  the  top  row  to 
the  wire  netting  which  prevents  the  spectators 
from  pushing  out  upon  the  track.  And  a  gay 
crowd  it  is — at  least  six  hundred  students 
wearing  their  long  streamers  of  college  colors, 
some  scarcely  daring  to  hope  that  their  ath- 


WINKING   THE   EMBLEM.  127 

letes  will  carry  home  the  silver  emblem  of  vic- 
tory, but  all  impatient  for  the  contests  to  be- 
gin. There  are  some  two  hundred  from  Phil- 
lips College  and  about  the  same  number  from 
Hawkeye,  while  a  hundred  are  gathered 
around  the  purple  banner  of  Barrington  Uni- 
versity. 

The  State  Normal  School  have  a  con- 
tingent of  fifty  to  cheer  on  their  athletes 
in  the  only  event  of  which  they  are  sure — the 
high  jump.  But  the  citizens  far  outnumber 
the  students  whose  representatives  are  about 
to  contend  for  the  State  Championship. 
Traveling  men  by  the  score,  merchants,  pro- 
fessional men,  and  clerks  have  taken  an  after- 
noon off  to  watch  the  sports.  Here  and  there 
are  the  parents  of  some  of  the  contestants, 
whose  anxious  faces  show  their  high  hopes  of 
seeing  their  sons  win  glory  for  their  college 
and  themselves. 

At  last  the  men  line  up  at  the  scratch  and 
at  the  crack  of  the  pistol  they  dash  down  the 
stretch.  Hearing  the  report,  Fred  slips 
around  the  corner  of  the  building  to  take  a 
look.     "The  old  'Nick'  first,"  he  yells  back 


128  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

to  the  boys,  "and  Harry  a  close  second.     Just 
the  right  way  to  start  the  thing." 

The  afternoon  passes  rapidly  as  the  events 
are  run  off,  and  the  points  are  distributed 
among  the  various  colleges.  Phillips  College 
is  Hawkeye's  closest  rival.  They  take  first  in 
the  hammer-throw,  hurdles,  and  pole-vault, 
and  a  generous  number  of  seconds  and  thirds 
— those  places  not  so  eagerly  fought  for,  but 
which,  nevertheless,  generally  decide  a  meet. 
The  "half"  and  mile  run  have  by  some  mis- 
take been  placed  pretty  close  together  on  the 
list,  so  after  the  "half"  in  which  "Spike"  and 
Fred  come  in  ahead  with  a  good  lead,  the 
management  decides  to  make  the  "mile"  the 
last  event,  and  the  boys  again  stretch  them- 
selves out  to  wait  with  as  good  grace  as  possi- 
ble. "Nick"  Trevers  has  chalked  out  on  the 
side  of  the  dressing-room,  so  that  all  the  boys 
can  see  them,  the  events  and  the  points  each 
college  gets  out  of  them.  As  word  from  the 
shot-put  comes  in  he  adds:  "H  1st,  36  ft.  2 
in.  Howell."  "Just  so,"  bursts  out  the  Senior 
as  he  comes  tearing  through  the  door  and 
looks   at  the  record,  "and  I'm  all  ready  for 


WINNING   THE   EMBLEM.  129 

that  pie  too.  When  are  you  fellows  going  to 
pay  your  debts,  eh?"  u0h  shut  up,  you  idiot," 
replies  Trevers,  "and  give  the  boys  a  chance 
to  rest,"  and  he  goes  on  with  his  figuring. 

The  last  event  but  the  mile  run  has  come 
off  and,  with  a  troubled  face,  "Nick"  puts 
down  in  large  characters : 

PHILLIPS,  36. 

HAWKEYE,  36. 

BARRINGTON,  22. 

"There  seems  to  be  no  show  for  us, 'Spike',  " 
he  said,  going  up  to  English  who  was  pacing 
the  room,  "limbering  up",  "unless  you  get  this 
'mile'.  That  Phillips  man,  Allison,  gave  you 
fellows  a  hot  chase  in  the  'half,  aiid  we  can't 
rely  on  Fred  in  the  'mile'.  A  'kid'  of 
eighteen  is  sure  to  lose  his  head  when  it  comes 
to  a  pinch,  though  Fred  will  do  his  best, 
bring  us  a  third  anyhow.  Set  Allison  a  kill- 
ing pace  from  the  start  and  let  Fred  keep  up 
as  long  as  he  can." 

The  men  are  slipping  on  their  "spikes"  and 
hunting  around  for  their  "grips",  as  the  an- 
nouncer sticks  his  head  in  at  the  door  and 
calls  out,  "Third  and  final  call  for  the  mile 


130  ON"   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

run. "  In  a  moment  they  are  out  on  the  track. 
There  are  only  eight  men  to  start  in  this  race 
and  all,  except  the  men  wearing  the  cardinal 
emblem  of  Phillips,  are  from  the  colleges 
which  have  not  run  up  large  enough  scores  to 
make  them  the  cause  of  any  anxiety.  Allison 
draws  first  place  and  "Spike,"  fourth,  while 
Fred  has  to  content  himself  with  last  choice. 
They  throAV  their  sweaters  to  the  "swipes", 
and  take  their  places  on  the  scratch,  the  scar- 
let cross  at  both  ends  of  the  long  row  of  con- 
testants. "Now  keep  cool,  Fred,  and  don't 
lose  your  nerve,"  said  "Mike"  taking  Fred's 
sweater.  "Are  you  ready,"  calls  the  starter, 
"get  on  your  marks, — set!"  As  the  pistol 
snaps,  the  men  spring  forward,  "Spike" 
jumps  into  the  lead  with  his  long  stride,  start- 
ing out  at  a  furious  pace.*'  Allison  falls  in  be- 
hind him,  and  Fred  next.  These  three  "trail" 
around  the  track,  the  other  runners  bunch 
and  keep  some  yards  back  of  the  leaders  from 
the  very  start. 

All  the  contestants  have  left  the  dressing- 
room,  and  in  some  kind  of  costume  or  other 
have  gathered  along  the  side  of  the  track  to 


WINNING  THE   EMBLEM.  131 

watch  the  race,  every  one  glad  that  his  share 
of  the  work  is  done.  Nothing  makes  a  track 
man  feel  so  cheerful  as  the  consciousness  of 
having  earned  a  goodly  number  of  points  for 
his  college ;  the  weeks  and  months  of  training 
seem  short  when  a  fellow  can  look  back  at 
them  as  a  victor;  while  if  he  has-been  beaten, 
he  still  knows  that  the  training  will  stand  him 
in  good  stead  for  another  year's  work. 
"Nick"  Trevers,  Bartlett,  and  Howell  were 
standing  with  "Mike"  at  the  tape,  "waiting 
to  see  'Spike'  and  his  shadow  go  flitting  by," 
as  Howell  phrases  it. 

The  three  head  men  have  the  same  order  as 
they  pass  the  judges'  stand,  and  at  the  tap  of 
the  bell  they  settled  down  for  the  second  hard 
lap.  "Spike"  is  running  his  usual  strong 
race,  his  legs  go  like  clockwork,  and  he  knows 
as  well  as  though  he  were  holding  a  stop- 
watch what  time  he  is  making.  Three  years  on 
the  track  have  given  him  a  good  head  for 
gauging  his  pace.  Allison  is  a  fine  specimen 
of  an  athlete  with  his  six  feet  of  well  knit 
muscle,  and  it  seems  only  a  pleasure  to  him 
to  "trail"  "Spike"  at  any  pace  he  can   set 


132  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

him.  "You  just  watch  old  Allison  fool  that 
Hawkeye  man  on  the  home  stretch,"  says  a 
Phillips  student  to  his  companion,  "he  knows 
the  odds  at  stake  as  well  as  the  next  man." 

Fred  is  perhaps  the  best  built  man  of  the 
three,  trim  and  clean-limbed,  and  while  not 
over  five  feet  eight,  he  takes  a  longer  stride 
than  either  of  the  others.  He  shows  his  lack 
of  experience,  however,  and  the  pace  is  telling 
on  him,  so  that  he  begins  to  look  a  little 
"blowed"  already,  but  manages  to  keep  within 
two  or  three  yards  of  Allison. 

There  is  not  a  word  spoken  in  the  grand 
stand,  every  one  is  watching  the  three  forms  on 
the  other  side  of  the  field.  At  the  quarter- 
post,  "Spike"  seems  to  stop  short  for  an  in- 
stant and  the  Phillips  man  darts  past  him. 
"What  the  dickens  is  the  matter  with 'Spike' !  " 
ejaculates  Bartlett  with  a  blank  face,  looking 
at  Trevers.  "His  ankles,  I  suppose."  "Nick" 
looks  bluer  than  the  boys  often  see  him  but 
he  has  not  given  up  hope  yet ;  he  has  seen  too 
many  races  won  in  the  last  ten  feet.  As 
"Spike"  falls  back,  Fred  quickens  his  pace 
and  the  two  keep  together  for  a  short  distance, 


WnOTOTG   THE   EMBLEM.  133 

Allison  constantly  gaining  on  them  till  he  has 
a  clear  thirty  yards  lead.  At  the  220-tapes, 
"Spike"  calls  out,  "Catch  him,  Fred,  I  can't 
go  another  step,"  and  he  drops  out  of  the 
race.  Fred  pulls  himself  together  and  starts 
out  on  the  fiercest  sprint  of  his  life.  Only 
two  hundred  and  twenty  yards  in  which  to 
make  up  thirty.  He  sets  his  teeth,  clinches 
his  fists  and  rushes  madly  down  the  stretch. 
His  face  seems  to  grow  whiter  at  every  stride, 
his  eyes  glaze,  but  by  the  sheer  force  of  will 
he  drives  himself  in  the  desperate  pursuit. 
As  the  Phillips  man  half  turns  his  head  five 
yards  from  the  line,  he  sees  a  pale  figure  with 
the  scarlet  emblem  glittering  on  his  breast. 
An  instant  and  it  has  gained  a  foot  on  him, 
broken  the  string,  and  fallen  to  the  ground. 

The  great  crowd  which  had  risen  and 
watched  the  final  struggle  in  oppressive 
silence,  burst  out  into  frantic  cheers  and  yells. 
Professor  Nicolls,  Hawkeye's  gray-haired  in- 
structor in  Latin,  swinging  his  hat  in  one 
hand  and  his  cane  in  the  other,  rushed  out  of 
the  building  to  where  Fred  lay,  and  helped 
"Mike"  and  "Nick"  carry  him  around  to  the 


134  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

dressing-rooms.  Here  they  laid  him  gently 
on  a  rubbing  couch  and  tried  to  work  the 
aches  and  soreness  out  of  his  knotted  and 
strained  muscles. 

"Bless  you,  old  man,"  said  "Spike",  limp- 
ing over  to  the  group  around  Fred,  "but 
our  'kids'  are  made  of  the  right  stuff.  I 
guess  you  have  earned  the  'H'  all  right,  for 
you  lowered  the  State  record  just  five  sec- 
onds." "Did  I,  'Spike'?"  and  Fred  looked 
up  with  a  happy  smile,  "then  I'm  satisfied." 
And  so  were  the  two  hundred  Hawkeye  stu- 
dents who  had  watched  the  boy's  plucky  run. 


"Traggles"'  Suit. 

"'T'HERE'S  nothing  the  matter  with  this 
1  night,"  remarked  Dick  Sleighton  to 
a  group  of  boys  gathered  at  one  of  the  down 
town  candy  stores.  "Looked  as  if  it  were  going 
to  rain  this  afternoon,  though,  and  I  didn't 
make  a  date.  Suppose  she  isn't  at  home 
now,  so  it  would  do  no  good  to  go  up." 

The  boys  did  not  seem  to  need  an  explana- 
tion of  the  term  "she,"  as  they  asked  no  ques- 
tions. A  long  silence  followed.  Finally  a 
tall,  athletic-looking  fellow  whispered  to  Dick, 
"There  are  the  girls  going  down  town.  They 
look  as  though  there  was  something  up.  Let's 
walk  down  the  street  and  see." 

Unnoticed  by  the  group  whose  attention  was 
just  then  turned  to  "swiping"  peanuts,  the 
two  went  out  and  sauntered  down  the  street 
looking  in  all  the  windows.  At  last  they 
stopped  before  a  jewelry    store  where  they 

(135) 


136  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

seemed  to  be  entirely  absorbed  in  discussing 
some  new  college  pins. 

"Let's  pretend  not  to  see  them  when  they 
come  back,"  suggested  Harry  Bartlett. 

"All  right,  here  they  are,"  returned  Dick. 

The  last  part  of  the  remark  seemed  quite 
uncalled  for,  as  it  would  have  been  impossible 
not  to  notice  the  arrival  of  the  girls,  who  were 
giggling,  of  course,  and  loaded  down  with 
innumerable  bags  and  bundles.  They  evidently 
had  no  intention  of  loitering,  for  they  rushed 
past  with  a  gait  a  professional  pedestrian 
might  have  envied. 

"I  guess  we'll  have  to  run  if  we  ever  catch 
up  with  them,"  Dick  remarked. 

"It's  too  warm  to  exert  ourselves  very 
much.  If  they're  in  such  a  hurry,  let's  let 
them  go,"  returned  Bartlett,  whose  pride  in 
the  medal  he  had  Avon  last  field-day  in  the 
hundred  yard  dash  forbade  him  using  his  skill 
in  frivolous  matters. 

"Oh  bother,  hurry  up  or  they'll  be  home 
before  we  catch  them,  and  it's  after  seven 
o'clock  now,  so  there'll  be  only  about  half  an 
hour  anyway,"  growled  Dick. 


"tkaggles'"  suit.  137 

A  block's  run  brought  them  up  with  the 
girls.  "Ah,  good  evening.  Can't  we  fellows 
be  useful  as  well  as  ornamental  by  carrying 
some  of  your  numerous  bundles?" 

"Why,  yes,  thank  you,  Mr.  Sleighton,"  and 
Clara  Nesbit  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  as  she 
piled  up  Dick's  outstretched  arms. 

"Seems  to  me  you  girls  always  have  the 
most  packages !  Why  don't  you  put  them  all 
in  one  big  bag?  It  would  be  ten  times  easier 
to  carry." 

"Oh,  if  they're  any  trouble — "  began  Clara. 

"Oh,  you  know  I  didn't  mean  that.  But 
what  are  all  these  things  for,  anyway?  You 
people  must  be  going  to  have  a  blow-out." 

"Well — we  were  thinking  of  having  a  little 
feast." 

"A  little  feast!  It  seems  to  me  there  is 
enough  here  for  forty  men." 

"Worse  than  that,  it's  for  four  girls,"  re- 
torted Clara. 

They  had  reached  the  steps  of  Mears'  Cot- 
tage and  turned  to  watch  the  progress  of  their 
companions,  which  was  not  exceedingly  rapid. 

"Oh  don't  go  in  yet.     It's  fifteen  minutes 


138  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

at  least  before  the  bell  rings,"  urged  Dick, 
notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he  was  beneath 
a  load  heavy  enough  to  draw  a  sympathizing 
tear  from  the  eye  of  an  over-worked  dray 
horse. 

"We  must,"  answered  Clara  decidedly. 
"We  can  get  in  now  without  being  seen,  and 
if  we  wait  fifteen  minutes,  we'll  be  sure  to  en- 
counter some  one  anxiously  awaiting  our  ar- 
rival. " 

"Well,  I  suppose  we  had  better  go  then. 
But  I  call  it  a  shame  to  waste  this  elegant 
evening,"  grumbled  Dick.  "But  say,  are 
there  any  donations  we  could  make  in  the 
way  of — well,  let  me  see, — drinks  for  in- 
stance?" 

"Well,  perhaps  we  might  be  able  to  use 
something  of  the  sort.  It's  awfully  good  of 
you  to  think  of  it,  Dick." 

"What'll  you  have?    Perhaps  a  little—" 

"Ginger  ale  will  do  very  nicely,  thank  you." 

"At  what  time  are  these  midnight  revels  to 
be  held?" 

"Why,  we  generally  consider  twelve  o'clock 
as  midnight,  in  this  part  of  town." 


"  TRAGGLES'  "    SUIT.  139 

"Indeeed,  you  don't  mean  it!" 

"Well,  perhaps  I  don't,  but  if  you  bring  up 
your  contribution  at  that  time,  Ave  will  lower 
the  'elevator. '  Whistle  down  at  the  corner,  to 
let  us  know  you're  coming.  And  be  sure  not 
to  make  a  noise  when  you  get  up  here." 

"All  right,  it's  a  go,  and  I  guess  that's  all 
that  is  left  for  us,  too." 

"If  you  intended  that  for  a  pun,  my  opin- 
ion is,  the  sooner  you  go  the  better." 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  didn't  intend 
that  for  a  pun — but  we'll  go.  Well,  then, 
till  'the  iron  tongue  of  midnight  doth  tell 
twelve.'  So,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  thanking 
you  one  and  all  for  your  kind  attention  and 
liberal  patronage  we  shall  now  close  with  the 
last  act  of  'Exit.'  So  'au  re  voir,  but  not 
good-bye.'  " 

"Good-bye,  many  thanks  for  carrying  these 
small  bundles." 

"Don't  mention  it,  the  pleasure  was  all 
mine." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  liked  it." 

"I  certainly  did.     It  isn't  a  bad  thing  now 


140  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

and  then  for  a  fellow  to  put  his  athletic  train- 
ing to  some  good  use." 

"That's  right.  By  the  way  there  are  several 
loose  boards  in  this  walk — " 

"Really  I  think  we  had  better  go.  Good 
night,  ladies.  You  have  one  and  three-quar- 
ters seconds  to  get  in  the  house  before  the  bell 
rings." 

This  time  the  boys  were  actually  off. 

"Pretty  nice  girl,  that  Miss  Holmes,  don't 
you  think  so?"  asked  Bartlett. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Why  yes,  of  course  I 
think  she's  all  right,"  replied  Dick,  coming 
out  of  a  reverie.  "But  didn't  it  strike 
you  that  Clara  was  provoked  about  some- 
thing?" 

"I  didn't  notice  it.  She'll  get  over  it  if 
she  is,"  was  Jack's  ready  consolation.  "But 
say,  that  new  suit  you  have  on  is  pretty 
smooth." 

"Do  you  think  so?  I  rather  like  it  myself. 
But  I've  got  to  go  down  town  now.  I'll  turn 
into  the  'Den'  and  study  after  a  while  if  I 
can't  find  anything  better  to  do." 

The  girls  in  the  meantime  had  entered  the 


"traggles'"  suit.  141 

house,  escaping  the  ever  watchful  eye  of  the 
matron,  and  had  gone  to  their  room. 

"Where  shall  I  put  all  these  things?"  asked 
Winnifred  Holmes.  She  had  been  there  only 
a  few  days  on  a  visit  to  her  cousin,  and  so 
had  not  been  thoroughly  initiated  into  all  the 
mysteries  of  college  life. 

"Oh,  throw  your  bundles  back  of  that  door. 
Nobody  will  ever  see  them.  Be  careful  or 
that  screen  will  tumble  down  again.  It 
ought  to  go  to  'gym'  and  learn  to  stand  up 
straight.  Oh  dear,  there's  this  Greek  lesson 
to  get  and  a  'psych'  lesson  too.  Will  you  ex- 
cuse me,  my  dear,  if  I  proceed  to  study?  I 
positively  must  not  flunk  to-morrow,  for  I  dis- 
graced myself  in  every  recitation  to-day.  I 
piled  up  a  lot  of  books  and  magazines  on  that 
table  for  you,  if  you  want  to  read;  and  if  you 
prefer  to  talk  to  someone,  Nell  said  she  would 
like  to  have  you  come  in  and  see  her ;  she's'  Con- 
servatory' and  doesn't  have  to  study  at  night." 

"Oh,  don't  bother  about  me,  I'll  amuse  my- 
self all  right." 

"Mail!"  rang  out  a  voice  from  the  upper 
part  of  the  corridor. 


142  ON   A   WESTEEN   CAMPUS. 

"Any  for  me?"  shouted  Clara,  rushing  to 
the  door. 

"A  paper  is  all." 

''Seems  to  me  that  I  might  get  a  letter  once 
in  a  while.  Newspapers  are  so  very  consol- 
ing," grumbled  Clara. 

"Well,  to  return  to  that  'long-suffering 
divine  Odysseus.'  Just  imagine  the  trouble 
we  would  have  been  spared,  if  Paris  had  only 
assisted  him  out  of  this  world  before  those 
awful  wanderings  began." 

"Look  at  your  lamp.     It's  going  out!" 

"Oh,  it  hasn't  been  filled  to-day.  Now  we'll 
have  to  blow  it  out  and  go  on  the  balcony  to 
fill  it.  You  know  it's  against  rules  to  fill  it 
inside  the  house  after  dark." 

After  this  was  done,  quiet  reigned  for  a 
time.  Then  came  a  rap  on  the  door,  and 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  a  girl  dashed 
in,  grabbed  a  book  from  a  shelf,  exclaiming 
as  she  left  the  room,  "May  I  borrow  your 
Latin  'die'?" 

"Oh,  Win,  please  put  a  'busy'  sign  on  the 
door  or  I  won't  be  able  to  get  a  lesson  to- 
night," sighed  Clara.      When  the    half-past 


"traggles'  "  SUIT.  143 

nine  bell  rang,  she  was  still  studying,  but  at 
ten,  she  threw  aside  her  books,  announcing 
that  the  last  part  of  her  psychology  would 
have  to  be  left  until  chapel  time  next  morning. 

"Hadn't  we  better  put  out  the  light  for  a 
while  at  least?"  suggested  Winifred. 

"Oh,  no,  we'll  put  a  shawl  over  the  tran- 
som so  the  light  won't  shine  through." 

"Would  you  be  suspended  if  they  caught 
us?" 

"I  expect  so,"  answered  Clara,  making  a 
good  show  of  recklessness. 

"Let's  not  do  it  then." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  afraid.  There's  no  need  of 
any  one's  knowing  it,  if  we're  only  careful. 
But  we  must  not  forget  to  wake  Bess  and  Lil 
about  half-past  eleven.  They'll  never  forgive 
us  if  we  don't.  Suppose  we  make  the  fudges 
now,  so  they'll  have  time  to  cool.  We  can't 
pop  the  corn  until  everybody  is  asleep,  or 
they'd  smell  it.  The  Welsh  rare-bit  will  have 
to  wait  until  the  girls  bring  in  their  chafing- 
dish." 

"Do  you  pop  the  corn  on  that  little  oil- 
stove?" 


144  ON  A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

"Oh,  gracious  no.  It  would  take  all  next 
week  to  pop  it  that  way.  We  always  use  the 
lamp  to  pop  corn  with.  But  be  quiet,  for 
methinks  I  hear  foot-steps  approaching  on 
horseback  down  the  corridor  of  time." 

The  sound  of  the  steps  came  nearer  and 
then  died  away  in  the  distance.  For  the  first 
time  complete  silence  fell  on  everything. 
One  by  one  the  lights  down  the  hall  disap- 
peared. Soon  a  mouse  starting  out  on  an  ex- 
ploring expedition  caused  the  girls'  hearts  to 
beat  anxiously.  Winnifred  was  seized  with  a 
panic. 

"Oh,  I  know  there  is  some  one  in  the  hall 
by  that  door — I  hear  the  breathing." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Clara.  "  ' 'Tis  but  the 
wind,  or  the  car  rattling  o'er  the — '  " 

"No,  I  tell  you  there  is  some  one  there. 
You  must  not  go  into  the  hall  to  get  those 
girls.  Just  think  how  terribly  your  father 
and  mother  would  feel  if  you  were  suspended. 
I'm  going  to  lock  the  door  and  keep  the  key. 
There  now,  you  can't  get  out  of  the  room." 

"You'll  have  to  stand  the  consequences 
then,  to-morrow.     They  will  be  so  mad  that 


"  TKAGGLES'  "    SUIT.  145 

probably   they    won't    speak   to   us   at   all." 

"Oh,  I  don't  care,  if  only  we  aren't  caught." 

"There's  Dick  whistling  now." 

"Let  down  the  'elevator,'"  came  Dick's 
whisper  loud  enough  to  drown  ordinary  con- 
versation. 

"Here  it  is.  Be  careful  and  don't  talk  so 
loud,  Dick,  please." 

"All  right,  now  steady." 

The  girls  pulled  it  up.  Just  as  they  took 
the  bottles  out,  an  idea  came  to  them. 

"Oh,  we  haven't  any  corkscrew." 

"Here's  one,  I'll  throw  it  up." 

"Oh,  don't.  I'll  be  afraid  to  open  it  any- 
way, because  it  pops  so.  What  can  we  do? 
We'll  have  to  let  them  down  again  and  let 
you  open  them." 

"Yes,  and  a  lot  would  be  left  in  the  bottle 
by  the  time  you  got  it  up  there  again.  I'll 
tell  you  what — I'll  climb  to  the  edge  of  the 
porch  and  you  can  hand  a  bottle  to  me." 

"All  right.  Be  careful  and  don't  get  on 
those  nails  we  put  up  there  for  the  decora- 
tions, field-day." 

"I'll  look  out.     Here  I  am,     Now,  can  you 


146  ON   A    WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

reach  a  bottle  out  the  window?" 

"Here  it  is." 

Dick  put  the  corkscrew  in  and  pulled. 

"Young  ladies,  what  does  this  mean?" 

The  door  had  opened,  and  when  the  shawl 
hanging  from  the  transom  had  been  pushed 
aside,  the  figure  of  the  matron  was  revealed. 
There  was  a  report  from  the  window  as  though 
a  pistol  had  been  fired,  a  scrambling,  a  sound 
of  something  tearing,  the  thud  of  a  heavy 
body  falling  on  the  ground. 

"Winnifred  began  to  weep.  Clara  was  ir- 
resolute, whether  to  face  the  battle  with  the 
matron,  or  rush  to  the  window  to  see  if  Dick 
were  hurt.  At  last,  being  reassured  by  the 
sound  of  life  below,  she  turned  to  greet  the 
enemy. 

"There  is  no  need  of  saying  anything,  Miss 
Nesbit.  I  think  I  understand  the  situation 
perfectly.  You  will  immediately  close  your 
window,  and  put  out  your  light,  and  in  the 
morning  I  should  like  to  see  you.  Next  time 
I  would  advise  you  to  be  sure  the  door  is 
locked,"  and  turning,  Miss  Dorcas  left  the 
room. 


"traggles'"  suit.  147 

"You  didn't  turn  the  lock  all  the  way!"  ex- 
claimed Clara.  "Oh  Winnifred,  do  you 
think  Dick  is  hurt  badly?" 


A  week  later  Dick  was  going  to  the  post- 
office  with  one  of  the  boys,  when  suddenly  his 
friend  asked: 

"Say,  old  fellow,  are  you  and  Miss  Nesbit 
going  to  play  quits?  You  haven't  been  up 
there  for  a  whole  week." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Been  studying  pretty 
hard  for  a  while.  Haven't  had  much  time  to 
fool  away." 

"I  didn't  know  you  called  that  fooling  away 
your  time.  But  here  comes  *  Traggles'," 
went  on  Bartlett.  The  individual  in  question 
was  a  simple  old  colored  man,  a  great  favorite 
with  the  boys,  upon  whom  they  bestowed 
many  of  their  cast-off  garments,  besides  a 
great  deal  of  attention. 

"He's  got  a  new  coat,  too.  My,  but  it's 
swell  for  the  old  fellow.  Nearly  comes  up  to 
your  new  suit,  Dick,  and  I  bet  the  next  cent 
I  get,  that  the  material  is  almost  like  yours. 


148  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

Let's  stop  him  and  find  out  where  he  got  so 
much  'swelldom'." 

The  old  man  came  up.  He  looked  odd 
enough  in  a  light  spring  coat  of  the  latest 
cut.  The  only  peculiar  thing  about  the  coat 
was  a  three-cornered  tear  on  one  of  the 
sleeves,  and  some  dark  spots  scattered  over  it 
quite  generally. 

"Oh,  I'm  in  a  terrible  hurry.  I  can't 
stop,"  exclaimed  Dick,  suddenly  awakening 
to  the  fact. 

"Come  to  think  about  it,  Dick,  why  don't 
you  wear  your  new  suit?  I  haven't  seen  it 
since  the  first  time  you  wore  it." 

"I  dunno, — but  when  I  came  to  examine  it 
by  daylight,  I  found  the  color  was  hideous, 
and  besides  it  didn't  fit  at  all,"  answered 
Dick,  looking  thoughtfully  at  the  clouds 
reddened  by  the  setting  sun. 


Coach  "Chubby". 

BARRINGTON  UNIVERSITY  and  Hawk- 
eye  College  were  fighting  out  to  an  un- 
certain finish  their  annual  contest  on  the 
gridironed  field. 

The  excitement  was  of  a  sort  engendered 
by  a  rivalry  dating  back  to  the  memorable 
year  when  "Dad"  Bryon,  Princeton's  famous 
end  of  188 — ,  introduced  the  first  Hawkeye 
eleven  to  foot-ball  and  incidentally  to  the 
players  of  Barrington  University.  Although 
acting  the  part  of  host  on  that  occasion, 
Bryon's  proteges  sent  their  friendly  antago- 
nists home  with  nothing  to  their  credit  beyond 
consoling  thoughts  of  what  might  have  been. 
The  Hawkeye  players  had  amassed  twenty-four 
points,  to  be  recorded  as  the  score  of  their 
first  foot-ball  victory. 

Year  after  year  had  worn  away,  and  the 
meeting  of  the  Barrington  and  Hawkeye  teams 
had   developed   into   an   event  of  paramount 

(149) 


150  ON  A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

athletic  interest  to  the  two  schools  thus  repre- 
sented. Then  it  was  that  old  "grads"  sought 
to  reassemble ;  to  slap  each  other  on  the  back 
and  recall  past  days;  dilating  on  the  degen- 
eracy of  the  present,  notably  from  the  sports- 
man's point  of  view.  On  this  particular  occa- 
sion they  were  much  in  evidence.  There  were 
Tom  Hurley  and  "Fussy"  Williams,  ex-cap- 
tains of  Barrington  and  Hawkeye  respectively, 
squabbling  over  the  game  with  the  same  ardor 
displayed  a  few  years  before  when  they  were 
pitted  against  each  other  in  gubernatorial 
capacity.  The  lively  conversation  between 
these  two  veterans  was  a  feature  that  at- 
tracted no  little  attention  in  their  immediate 
vicinity.  A  prominent  figure  in  the  crush  of 
spectators  was  a  tall,  gray-bearded  old  gentle- 
man. It  was  soon  whispered  about  that  he 
was  one  of  the  Hawkeye  trustees,  who  had  come 
a  hundred  miles  to  see  what  the  game  was 
like,  in  order  to  determine  whether  he  really 
approved  of  it.  lie  had  preconceived  notions 
of  a  brutal  warfare  in  which  broken  noses 
and  twisted  limbs  were  painfully  frequent. 
To  the   younger    generation,  the    reminis- 


COACH  "chubby".  151 

cent  remarks  overheard  here  and  there,  sug- 
gested pleasantly  the  wreath  of  tradition  that 
was  beginning  to  crown  their  cherished  field, 
the  scene  of  many  a  well-earned  victory. 

The  game  was  drawing  to  a  close.     The  be- 
sweatered   "subs"  along    the  lines  were  fol- 
lowing with  closest  scrutiny  every  move  that 
changed  the  position  of  the  ball,  and  emitting 
laconic  grunts  of  approval  or  censure,  as  the 
play    pleased    or    disappointed    them.       No 
longer  did  the  Hawkeye  mascot  proudly  wag 
his  ribboned  tail  before  an  admiring  assem- 
blage, but  true  to  his  canine  instinct,  he  was 
pursuing  the  sprightly  chipmunk,  leaving  the 
outcome   of  the  game   in  the   hands  of  the 
Fates,  and  twenty-two  stalwart  young  giants. 
•    The   gruff  little    linesman   who    kept    the 
time  had  grudgingly  volunteered  the  informa- 
tion that  nine  minutes  were  left  to  play.     As 
yet  no  score  had  requited  the  lively  encour- 
agement from  the  rival  factions.     As  the  re- 
maining time  became  steadily  less,  the  excite- 
ment increased  proportionately. 

Two  precious  minutes  had  slipped  by,  dur- 
ing which  the  ball  changed  hands  a  few  times 


152  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

with  little  result.  Then  came  a  grand  op- 
portunity for  an  attempt  to  kick  a  goal  from 
the  field.  Hawkeye  shoved  the  ball  to  the 
'Varsity's  fifteen-yard  line,  but  not  the  most 
desperate  efforts  of  King,  Hawkeye 's  dashing 
half-back,  could  pass  that  point.  Twice  they 
had  advanced  very  near  to  the  last  white- 
washed line,  that  meant  victory,  and  twice 
had  four  downs  caused  a  groan  of  disappoint- 
ment from  the  Hawkeye  contingent,  which 
was  pressing  heavily,  with  fevered  agitation 
against  the  ropes  on  the  west  side  of  the 
grounds.  A  confident  and  lusty  cheer  arose 
opposite  them  where  the  Barrington  follow- 
ing, scarcely  so  numerous,  yet  equally  vocif- 
erous, had  taken  up  its  position. 

"Is  Jack  dead  crazy?"  was  the  surprising 
interrogation  to  which  "Chubby"  Grant  gave 
utterance.  "Chubby"  was  a  tousled  and 
dumpy  specimen  of  humanity,  attired  in  a 
unique  athletic  garb,  half  foot-ball,  semi- 
base-ball  in  make-up.  This  was  the  boy's 
first  year  at  Hawkeye.  No  one  could  state 
positively  where  his  home  was.  Undeniable, 
however,  were  the  facts  of  his  classification  as 


'  Is  -Jack  dead  crazy  V  " 


Page  152. 


COACH  "chubby".  153 

a  Prep  and  his  invariable  attendance  at 
the  daily  practice.  One  afternoon  he  had 
been  nearly  beside  himself  with  joy  when  the 
captain  had  allowed  him  to  play  a  couple  of 
minutes  on  the  scrub,  while  Jones  was  lacing 
up  his  jacket.  The  boys  admired  his  plucky 
spirit,  and  he  was  always  granted  the  privilege 
of  holding  their  sweaters.  With  an  import- 
ant, business-like  air,  he  would  help  in 
stretching  them  on  after  the  first  half,  and  in 
stripping  them  off  after  the  fray  recom- 
menced. 

By  virtue  of  his  official  prerogative, 
"Chubby"  could  view  the  game  inside  the 
ropes,  which  were  creaking  from  the  spas- 
modic pushes  of  the  mass  of  eager  spectators. 
He  watched  keenly  every  move  out  on  the 
field  and  noting  the  mistake  in  not  trying  for  a 
goal,  he  had  blurted  out  his,  as  yet,  unanswered 
question. 

"Sit  down,  my  lad,  sit  down!  How  d'ye  ex- 
pect one  to  see  the  game,  with  you  standing 
in  the  way?" 

It  was  the  gray-bearded  trustee.  In  his 
mind  the  problem  was  solved  and  he  was  a 


154  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

strong  convert  to  foot-ball.  About  twenty 
minutes  before,  he  had  left  his  seat  in  the 
stand,  and  was  elbowing  his  way  excitedly 
through  one  of  the  densest  yelling-squads,  that 
he  might  come  closer  to  the  scene  of  action. 
He  was  as  enthusiastic  as  a  Freshman,  and  as 
exacting.  "Chubby"  minded  him  not;  the 
trustee  was  not  "in  it"  just  then.  It  was  a 
critical  time.  Thompson,  the  big  center,  was 
just  about  to  snap  the  ball  to  the  Hawkeye 
quarter  on  Barrington's  fifteen-yard  line.  A 
slight  lull  ensued,  so  that  a  single  voice  was 
audible  at  some  distance. 

The  players  are  near  at  hand  and  their  heavy 
breathing  is  painfully  distinct.  The  Hawk- 
eye  right  tackle  stops  the  game  full  forty 
seconds  to  regulate  a  refractory  shin-guard. 

"Take  out  that  time  there,  you  lines- 
man," shout  several  imperious  voices.  One 
of  the  "subs"  avails  himself  of  the  oppor- 
tunity, to  tighten  the  bandage  on  the  little 
half-back's  head.  All  is  ready  again.  The 
lines  crouch  into  position  and  play  is  resumed 
after  a  tantalizing  delay.  The  signal  com- 
mences  but   is   interrupted  by  a  determined 


COACH  "chubby".  155 

protest  from  the  side.  "Why  in  thunder  don't 
you  let  'Buck'  kick  a  goal  from  the  field?" 

The  captain  glanced  sternly  in  the  direction 
of  the  sound,  relaxing  his  severity  somewhat 
as  he  perceived  it  was  only  "Chubby."  Then 
followed  the  signal  for  a  line  plunge. 

The  umpire,  however,  continually  on  the 
alert,  thought  he  detected  some  side-line 
coaching,  and  shaking  a  warning  finger  at  the 
sturdy  little  "sub",  threatened  to  have  him 
put  off  the  field. 

With  this  play,  Hawk  eye's  second  opportunity 
had  slipped  by.  The  ball  was  now  in  Bar- 
rington's  possession  ready  for  an  advance  out 
of  danger,  while  a  stirring  shout  of  relief 
volleyed  forth  from  the  University  element. 

Captain  Lyman  compressed  his  lips  a  little 
more  firmly  and  implored  the  men  with  "Smash 
'em !  Tear  up  that  interference,  Armstrong ! 
Play  your  game,  Cub!  Now — ."  All  his  en- 
treaties could  not  prevent  a  steady  retrogres- 
sion centerwards,  and  a  consequent  feeling  of 
discouragement  took  possession  of  the  anxious 
wearers  of  the  scarlet  and  black.  The  purple 
of  Barrington  flaunted  madly  from  cane  and 


156  ON"   A    WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

parasol,  for  their  champions  seemed  at  last  to 
have  struck  a  winning  gait. 

Several  stop-watches  have  registered  two 
minutes  left  to  play.  Just  now  a  mighty  roar 
shakes  the  atmosphere.  "Hawk eye's  ball!" 
is  the  hoarse  shout  passed  down  the  lines. 
Pandemonium  has  broken  loose.  Only 
twenty-five  yards ;  then,  victory !  Can  they 
struggle  across  that  intervening  strip? 

On  the  first  down,  King,  the  fleet  half, 
is  started  around  the  end.  Smoothly  the  in- 
terference precedes  the  runner  in  perfect  for- 
mation. Surely  they  will  gain  this  time.  Not 
so  thinks  the  University  right  end  and  he 
hurls  every  ounce  of  his  scant  hundred  and 
forty  pounds  into  the  oncoming  rush.  Down 
they  go,  one,  two,  three,  and  quick  as  a  flash 
the  tackle  is  through  the  opening  and  brings 
the  half  to  earth  with  more  force  than  grace. 
"Second  down  and  six  yards  to  gain,"  shouts 
the  referee. 

Once  more  a  line  play  is  tried.  Where  a 
clean  hole  should  have  been,  the  stocky  guard 
of  the  University  was  ready  to  embrace  the 
nimble  runner,  which  he  accomplished  so  hand- 


COACH  "chubby".  157 

ily  as  to  cause  a  loss  of  two  feet  of  stubbornly 
contested  sod.  Again  a  crisis  has  come,  and 
the  grounds  are  as  quiet  as  a  churchyard. 

Some  one  was  seen  to  run  out  a  few  yards  on 
the  field.  Waving  his  arms  as  well  as  two 
extra  sweaters  and  a  red  blanket  permitted,  he 
roared:  "Lyman,  you've  got  to  win  the  game! 
Try  that  goal  and  you  can  do  it  easy!" 

It  was  the  irrepressible  "sub"  once  more,  and 
this  time  he  paid  for  his  temerity  by  being 
courteously,  yet  firmly,  escorted  outside  the 
ropes  and  beyond  the  fence,  at  the  umpire's 
request,  while  the  crowd  looked  on  and 
laughed.  The  remedy  was  rather  more  heroic 
than  Mr.  Spalding's  rule-book  warrants,  but 
the  offense  was  of  extreme  gravity ;  at  least,  so 
reasoned  the  umpire.  However,  "Chubby's" 
mission  was  accomplished.  "8-12-6-7-28," 
gasped  Captain  Lyman,  and  "Buck"  Miller  ran 
backwards  five  yards,  eagerly  awaiting  the 
pass.  Then  came  the  "gamiest"  fight  of  the 
day.  Nobly  did  the  Barrington  forwards 
struggle  to  get  through  and  block  that  kick. 
Their  right  half-back,  the  mighty  Harrison, 
leaped  recklessly  over  the  line,  in  hope  of  reach- 


158  ON   A    WESTEKN   CAMPUS. 

ing  the  full-back  in  time ;  but  the  Hawkeye 
quarter  was  on  his  mettle  and  catching  his 
opponent  in  the  air,  threw  him  heavily.  Each 
man  did  his  best.  So  effective  was  the  defence 
that  "Buck"  was  undisturbed.  From  out 
that  mass  of  tugging,  steaming  humanity,  the 
leathern  spheroid  shot  serenely  forth,  and 
speeding  on  its  way  fell  directly  above  the 
cross-bar  of  the  goal — and  five  points  were 
scored  to  the  credit  of  Hawkeye. 

It  was  all  over,  save  the  maddened  delight 
of  five  hundred  college  students  whose  defend- 
ers had  won  a  tremendous  victory.  The 
people  swarmed  out  on  the  field  in  good-na- 
tured confusion.  The  reverend  trustee  forgot 
his  dignity,  and,  in  amiable  frame  of  mind,  pat- 
ted the  players  on  the  back  and  congratulated 
them  for  their  success,  in  true  undergraduate 
fashion.  The  game  had  been  too  close  for 
enjoyment,  and  now  that  it  was  really  saved, 
joy  passed  all  restraint. 

Not  a  man  of  the  eleven  walked  from  the 
field  that  day.  The  earth  seemed  far  too  base 
for    such   heroes   to   tread. 

Shoulders   there  were   in   plenty  to  furnish 


COACH  "chubby".  159 

cushions  for  the   athletes'  quivering,  aching 
muscles. 

The  more  modest  tried  to  elude  this  en- 
forced march  of  triumph,  but  the  happy  mob 
soon  spied  each  man  and  hoisted  him,  resisting, 
to  a  higher  "coign  of  vantage".  The  captain 
had  disappeared  almost  as  quickly  as  the  Bar- 
rington  delegation.  On  all  sides  loud  calls  of 
"Lyman,  Lyman,  we  want  Lyman!"  re- 
sounded. Then  the  crowd  began  to  converge 
at  the  gates.  A  Barrington  straggler  would 
come  along  occasionally,  and  was  at  once 
singled  out  for  general  mild  abuse. 

The  gay  procession  of  enthroned  athletes 
was  pushing  its  way  out.  As  the  gate  was 
reached,  Lyman  greeted  his  comrades,  carry- 
ing on  his  brawny  shoulders  the  chunky  little 
"sub"  who  had  virtually  won  the  day. 

"We  head  this  march,  don't  we,  'Chubby'?" 
"Chubby"  gave  an  affirmative  grunt,  and 
then,  as  a  realization  came  home  to  every  one 
that  the  game  had  really  been  saved  by  that 
last  brilliant  play,  which  the  little  fellow  had 
forfeited  his  own  pleasure  to  bring  to  pass, 
cheers  for  the    gallant    "Chub"  well    nigh 


160  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

overcame  that  worthy,  and  he  squirmed  in 
vain  to  escape  what  he  considered  indecorous 
popularity. 

Five  years  later,  "Chubby"  was  captain  of 
that  Hawkeye  eleven  which  never  met  de- 
feat. The  dearest  relic  in  ex-Oaptain 
Grant's  room  is  an  old  foot-ball,  suspended 
amongst  his  photographs  over  the  mantel- 
piece and  bearing  on  its  surface  the 
roughly    painted,    mystical    characters,    5-0. 


IV. 

IN  SERIOUS  VEIN. 


Back  in  the  Sixties. 

THE  large  south-east  room  of  the  Old  Hall 
was  in  more  confusion  than  usual  this 
morning.  Good  Mrs.  Bonebright  had  come  to 
"straighten  up  a  bit,"  but  had  been  ordered 
out,  "until  later,  Mrs.  Bonebright;"  and  she 
had  departed  wondering. 

The  early  morning  sun  looked  in  the  east 
windows  on  an  unusual  spectacle.  This  was 
unquestionably  the  best  room  of  the  house  in 
which  to  loaf,  and  it  was  seldom  used  for  any 
other  purpose.  The  window-seat  was  wide, 
and  adorned  with  a  few  substantial  cushions, 
presents  from  girl  friends,  or  "swiped,"  when 
making  calls.  And  one  of  the  surprising  things 
was,  that  this  morning  there  was  no  one  loung- 
ing there.  The  book-shelves  were  filled  with 
good,  substantial,  clean-looking  text-books,  ex- 
cept one  shelf  where  the  volumes  of  Field, 
Stevenson,  college  yarns  and  novels  were 
well  worn.      But  the  sign,  "Bare  volumes  sel- 

(163) 


164:  OK   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

dom  if  ever  handled,"  which  belonged  over  the 
shelves,  lay  with  several  others  of  the  same 
kind  in  the  ashes  of  the  fire-place. 

The  table,  for  once,  seemed  to  be  a  study 
table;  books  and  papers  were  piled  so  high 
that  a  young  man  seated  at  the  farther  end 
was  scarcely  visible.  He  was  busy  glancing 
over  a  pile  of  papers,  taking  up  one  and  at  the 
same  time  throwing  down  another,  running  his 
hands  through  his  curly  black  hair  and  grum- 
bling something  in  an  undertone  about  this 
"confounded  grind,"  while  his  dark  blue  eyes 
wore  a  troubled  expression.  He  was  evidently 
intent  upon  what  he  was  doing,  although  not 
with  an  air  of  thoroughly  enjoying  his  present 
situation. 

Yes,  this  was  Jack  Harrington.  He  had 
just  opened  Bryce's  "American  Common- 
wealth," and  was  taking  notes,  when  a  loud 
knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  not  waiting 
for  a  response,  Ned  Burton  rushed  into  the 
room,  saying  as  he  met  Jack's  angry  glance: 

"What,  not  going  to  Chapel,  old  man?" 

"No,  hang  it,  not  going  anywhere,"  replied 
Jack,  in  a  manner  not  inviting  further  counsel. 


BACK   IN   THE   SIXTIES.  165 

"Well,  I'll  be  dubbed,  what  in  thunder  ails 
you?  No  suicidal  intentions,  I  hope ;  looks  as 
if  you  might  be  making  out  your  will,"  said 
Ned,  picking  up  one  of  the  numerous  papers 
scattered  over  the  table. 

"If  you  had  half  an  eye,  I  should  think  you 
could  see.  This  blamed  paper  for  political 
science  was  due  a  month  ago,  and  Hicks  has 
jerked  me  up  regularly  after  every  recitation, 
and  said  if  I  did  not  have  it  to-morrow 
he'd " 

"0  the  deuce,  Jack,  if  that's  all  that  ails 
you,  come  along,  old  man.  This  is  Decoration 
Day,  and  Prof.  Mitchell  always  makes  his  cus- 
tomary address,  and  really,  you  want  to  see 
how  the  girls  have  decorated  the  slabs  contain- 
ing the  names  of  our  heroic  dead.  There  goes 
the  last  bell.  Come  along,  Jack ;  let  old  Hicks 
wait  another  day.  He  needs  to  cultivate 
patience,"  said  Ned,  as  he  turned  towards  the 
door. 

Jack  muttered  something  to  the  effect  that 
he  wished  to  be  left  alone,  and  Ned  hurried 
down  the  stairs,  wondering  what  had  come 
over  his  chum. 


166  ON   A   WESTERN  CAMPUS. 

"I  never  knew  anything  to  trouble  that  fel- 
low before,  much  less  a  'pol  sci'  paper,  but 
stranger  things  have  happened,"  said  Ned  to 
himself,  as  he  entered  the  Chapel. 

Ned  might  better  have  understood  Jack's 
unusual  manner,  had  he  known  that,  while  at 
breakfast  that  morning,  Jack  had  received  a 
telegram  from  his  father,  to  the  effect  that  he 
was  on  his  way  home  from  Denver  and  would 
spend  the  night  with  him. 

Now  Jack  was  one  of  those  jolly  good  fel- 
lows, whom  all  the  boys  liked  and  who  thought 
it  far  better  to  get  "D"  in  his  work  and  be 
"in  the  push,"  as  he  called  it,  than  to  bother 
over  Weber's  Law,  much  less  Horace.  He 
would  leave  that  nonsense  to  the  girls. 

But  the  arrival  of  the  telegram  had,  for  a 
time,  put  all  these  notions  out  of  his  head. 
Jack's  father  was  a  graduate  of  Hawkeye  in 
'67,  and  felt  a  deep  interest  in  the  work  of 
his  son.  So  Jack  was  now  straining  every 
nerve  to  be  able  to  give  his  paper  before  the 
class  on  the  following  day,  and  convince  his 
father  of  the  genuine  hard  work  he  was  doing, 
while  at  the  same  time  he  might  be  more  sure 


BACK  IN  THE   SIXTIES.  167 

of  the  "fifty"  he  wanted  at  once.  So  the 
morning  wore  away  and  afternoon  passed  into 
evening.  Jack  was  just  hurrying  down  the 
steps  of  the  Old  Hall,  when  he  was  hailed  by, 
"Well,  old  boy,  where  now?  Are  you  really 
awake  to  the  fact  that  there  is  a  world  outside 
that  den  of  yours?— To  the  '6:40'?"  as  Jack 
turned  in  the  direction  of  the  station .  ' '  What 's 
up  now — Mamma  coming?" 

"No,"  said  Jack,  "Father  is  on  his  way 
home  from  Denver  and  telegraphed  he  would 
spend  the  night  with  me." 

"Well,  you  needn't  have  wasted  your  time 
trying  to  bluff  me  about  that  'pol  sci'  article. 
It  didn't  go  down  a  little  bit,  but  really,  old 
man,  it's  a  wonder  to  me  you  have  com- 
mon sense  enough  left  after  a  day  of  real 
hard  work  to  know  where  you  are  at,"  said 
Ned. 

"See  here,  old  fellow,"  said  Jack,  turning 
quickly  upon  him,  "let  me  give  you  a  pointer. 
You're  not  to  mention  this  day's  work,  and, 
in  fact,  my  work  is  not  to  be  mentioned  in  his 
presence,  as  you  value  your  life,  old  man,  not 
a  syllable." 


168  ON  A  WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

"I  always  thought  I  was  a  friend  of  yours — 
but  how  long  will  he  stay?" 

"Goes  on  to-morrow  night's  limited  to 
Davenport,"  said  Jack. 

This  short  conversation  was  interrupted  by 
the  whistle  of  the  approaching  train,  just  as 
the  boys  reached  the  depot  platform.  A 
minute  later  Jack  was  doing  all  the  honors  of 
an  obedient  son.  "Father,  let  me  introduce 
my  friend,  Mr.  Burton." 

"Mr.  Harrington,  I'm  glad  to  meet  you," 
said  Ned,  offering  his  hand. 

Mr.  Harrington  looked  steadily  into  his  face 
for  a  moment,  and  then  said,  in  a  voice  show- 
ing not  a  little  interest:  "Can  it  be  possible 
that  you're  the  son  of  John  Burton,  '67?" 

"I  have  the  honor,  I  believe." 

"Well!  well!  John  was  one  of  my  very  best 
friends  during  the  sixties,  and  friends  were 
friends  in  those  days,  the  darkest  days  this 
country  has  ever  known.  Life  at  old  Hawk- 
eye  was  very  different  then,  from  what  it  is 
now,  I  imagine."  By  this  time  they  had 
reached  the  street  leading  to  Ned's  board- 
irg-hall,  and  after  a  few  words  at  the  corner 


BACK   IN  THE  SIXTIES.  169 

Ned,  with  a  tip  of  his  cap  and  a  "good-bye," 
was  gone. 

"Come  over  to  the  room  after  supper,  Ned 
and  father  will  tell  us  some  more  about  the 
life  of  old  Hawkeye  in  his  days." 

"It's  a  go,"  called  back  Ned. 

"That's  the  queerest  specimen  of  humanity 
in  this  college,"  said  Jack,  as  he  and  his  father 
turned  down  High  Street,  "forever  harping 
on  war.  He'd  be  just  in  his  element  if  he 
could  marshal  the  company  out  on  dress 
parade,  but  he'd  be  the  one  to  leave  at  the 
first  smell  of  powder,  you  can  bet  on  that." 

"You  can't  always  tell,  Jack.  There's 
nothing  like  war  to  bring  out  what's  in  a  man. 
His  father  was  one  of  the  best  and  bravest  sol- 
diers I  ever  knew — always  ready  and  at  his 
post  for  duty." 

Mr.  Harrington  seemed  for  the  while  to  be 
living  over  again  the  scenes  of  thirty  years  ago 
and  did  not  notice  that  they  were  already  near- 
ing  the  Old  Hall. 

The  south-east  room  at  eight  o'clock  con- 
trasted greatly  with  the  same  room  as  we  saw 
it  in  the  morning.     The  table  was  neat,  with 


170  ON  A   WESTERN"   CAMPUS. 

just  the  right  number  of  books  lying  carelessly 
on  one  side  to  give  the  impression  of  student 
life.  Although  it  was  the  thirtieth  of  May,  a 
bright  fire  burned  in  the  grate — the  unseemly 
signs  were  gone,  and  the  college  pictures  on 
the  mantel  and  in  the  tennis  net  were  dusted 
and  neatly  arranged. 

Jack  was  pleased  with  Mrs.  Bonebright's 
work. 

Mr.  Harrington  was  examining  the  foot-ball 
which  hung  above  the  couch  in  one  corner, 
and  listening  to  Jack's  story  of  the  victory  in 
which  it  figured,  when  the  usual  crowd  of 
boys  dropped  in,  holding  an  animated  discus- 
sion over  the  morning's  chapel  talk.  They 
were  somewhat  surprised  and  silenced  as  they 
in  turn  made  the  acquaintance  of  Jack's 
father.  But  this  lasted  only  a  moment,  for 
they  had  loafed  in  comfort  so  often  in  the  old 
south  room  that  they  could  have  faced  a 
faculty  meeting  there  with  composure. 

"Sit  down,  fellows,  anywhere;  make  your- 
selves comfortable,"  said  Jack. 

"Well,  this  is  solid  comfort,"  said  Dick 
Sleighton,  as  he  threw  himself  on  the  rug  in 


BACK   IN  THE  SIXTIES.  171 

front  of  the  open  fire.  "But  where's  Ned? 
This  must  be  his  'psych'  evening." 

"Did  you  ever  know  him  to  stay  away  for 
that?"  remarked  Downley,  otherwise  known 
as  "Duke,"  seating  himself  in  a  comfortable 
chair.  Just  at  this  moment  the  door  opened, 
and  in  walked  Ned,  somewhat  out  of  breath. 

"Hello,  fellows.  Good  evening,  Mr.  Har- 
rington," said  Ned,  as  he  threw  off  his  light 
overcoat  and  stepped  toward  the  fire.  "Mr. 
Harrington,  you're  going  to  tell  us  something 
of  old  Hawkeye  in  the  early  sixties ;  the  boys 
want  to  hear  it,  too — don't  you  boys?" 

"Ned's  everlasting  theme  again,"  whispered 
Dick  to  his  next  neighbor.  "I  wish  to  good- 
ness we  could  give  that  idiot  a  taste  of  blood- 
shed." 

Mr.  Harrington  crossed  the  room  and  took 
the  chair  which  Jack  had  placed  for  him  in 
front  of  the  fireplace.  He  looked  with  kindly 
interest  into  the  faces  of  the  boys  gathered 
about  him.  "Well,  my  young  friends,"  he 
began, — "this  is  such  a  contrast  to  the  early 
sixties  that  I  can  hardly  believe  it  is  the  same 
old  Hawkeye.  The  little  college  had  been  ded- 


172  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

icated  but  a  short  time  before,  and  it  stood  al- 
most alone  on  the  prairie.  It  seems  wonderful 
what  development  has  been  made  in  the  last 
thirty  years." 

"Your  father,  Mr.  Burton,  and  I  used  to 
room  in  a  small  white  house  some  distance 
east  of  the  college  building.  We  had  one  lit- 
tle room  not  much  bigger  than  a  dry  goods 
box.  It  was  very  different  from  this,  1  can 
assure  you.  It  had  a  bed  and  a  stove  in  it, 
and  we  had  to  measure  our  movements  care- 
fully before  we  made  them.  Burton  was  al- 
ways threatening  to  pick  the  stove  up  and  set 
it  out  in  the  hall.  When  he  enlisted,  he  said: 
'Well,  that  stove  won't  trouble  me  for  a 
while. '  He  always  liked  to  joke  and  we  used 
to  have  some  great  times.  I  missed  him  more 
than  any  of  the  other  fellows,  I  think,  for  we 
were  constantly  together.  He  was  the  leading 
spirit  among  all  the  boys.  We  knew,  too,  just 
what  a  struggle  he  had  undergone  when  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  enlist.  Why,  that  fellow 
walked  four  days  and  swam  two  streams  in 
order  to  come  here.  He  knew  how  to  appre- 
ciate what  he  was  getting.    But  he  had  a  high 


BACK   IN   THE   SIXTIES.  173 

sense  of  duty,  and  when  he  made  up  his  mind 
as  to  what  was  right,  nothing  could  stop  him. 
He  enlisted  on  the  second  of  December  and 
was  sent  straight  to  the  front.  The  boys  used 
to  come  up  to  the  room  almost  every  evening 
to  know  if  I  had  heard  any  news  from  Burton. 
After  the  battle  of  Philippi  he  was  made  cap- 
tain of  his  company.  From  that  time  on,  I 
heard  no  word  from  him  for  weeks.  College 
life  was  unbroken  in  its  routine  of  study,  ex- 
cept when  news  came  from  the  front.  Then 
we  used  to  go  into  the  small,  narrow  recitation 
rooms  of  the  one  college  building,  day  after 
day,  with  no  thought  of  what  we  should  have 
prepared,  but  wholly  absorbed  in  the  news- 
paper reports  of  the  last  engagement." 

"Didn't  you  get  'E's'?"  interrupted  Jack. 

"War  isn't  essential  for  that  condition  of 
affairs,  at  least  not  now,"  said  Dick  in  an  un- 
dertone. 

"Oh,  the  faculty  forgave  us  much  in  those 
days ;  they  were  as  interested  as  we  were.  The 
question  uppermost  in  the  hearts  of  many  of 
us  was  whether  to  enlist  or  not.  Soon  after 
the  beginning  of  the  new  year,  Davis  and  Saw- 


174  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

yer,  both  Juniors,  decided  to  go.  Poor  Davis ! 
He  had  a  drooping  lid  and  tried  three  times 
before  he  was  mustered  in.  The  last  time, 
bound  to  go,  in  some  unaccountable  way  he 
turned  his  head  from  the  examiner  so  that  his 
eye  escaped  detection.  But  his  career  was 
short.  He  was  killed  at  Fort  Donelson. 
Just  as  the  news  of  his  death  reached  us,  ten 
of  us  boys  were  on  the  point  of  enlisting,  and 
instead  of  weakening  our  resolve,  it  only  made 
us  more  determined  to  cast  aside  our  Homers 
for  the  sterner  discipline  of  Hardy's  tactics. 
It's  no  use  trying  to  tell  you  boys  how  hard  it 
was  for  us  to  go  and  leave  those  who  for  many 
reasons  could  not.  Our  little  college  was  al- 
most broken  up,  so  small  was  the  number  left. 
"We  were  mustered  in  down  on  the  river 
at  Davenport,  and  were  placed  in  a  com- 
pany about  to  be  sent  south.  Just  before  leav- 
ing, I  received  a  letter  from  Burton.  He 
was  in  Tennessee,  and  the  anticipation  of 
possibly  seeing  him,  compensated  in  part  for 
the  hardships  we  had  to  undergo.  For,  after 
a  painful  experience  of  marching  through 
mud  and  water,  cold  and  snow,  with  some- 


BACK   IN  THE  SIXTIES.  175 

times  not  even  hard-tack  and  coffee,  we  didn't 
see  the  pleasure  of  war  in  exactly  the  same 
light  as  we  had  a  few  months  previous. 

"One  of  our  boys,  Joe  Smith,  created  a  good 
deal  of  fun  for  the  company.  When  we 
were  being  mustered  in,  Joe  laughingly  gave  as 
his  reason  for  enlisting,  that  he  wished  to  see 
the  sights.  So  when  even  hard-tack  was  lack- 
ing, and  there  was  no  place  to  sleep,  save  the 
frozen  ground  with  not  even  a  blanket,  we 
would  comfort  Joe  by  telling  him  he  was  'see- 
ing the  sights. '  Just  before  the  battle  of  Shi- 
loh,  we  were  encamped  several  miles  from  the 
city,  when  the  order  came  to  be  ready  to  move 
at  any  moment.  We  had  been  marching  all 
these  weeks  and  now,  for  the  first  time,  there 
was  a  chance  to  go  to  the  front. 

"Poor  Joe!  When  he  heard  the  orders,  a 
deathly  pallor  came  over  his  face  and  he  said, 
'I  can't  go,  Captain,  I'm  sick.'  Captain 
Jones  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height  and 
said:  'You've  heard  my  orders,  Mr.  Smith.' 
'But  Captain,  I'm  sick.'  'You'll  march  with 
your  company,  sir!'  I  never  saw  a  fellow  so 
frightened.     We  guyed  him  a  bit,  and  told 


176  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

him  he'd  probably  see  some  more  'sights,'  and 
there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  go.  The 
orders  came  and,  half  an  hour  later,  we  ar- 
rived on  the  field  of  battle  and  were  ordered 
to  storm  a  hill  which  the  Confederates  were 
holding.  It  was  a  terrible  position,  but  we 
marched  across  the  open  field,  directly  in  range 
of  the  enemy's  cannon,  men  falling  on  all 
sides;  just  as  we  were  climbing  the  last  ram- 
part, poor  Joe  was  all  but  over,  when  the  eye 
of  an  escaping  'Johnnie'  saw  him.  He  fired, 
and  Joe  fell.  During  the  terrible  night  that 
followed,  Joe's  face  was  missed,  and  when  'Doc' 
Wilmot  called  the  roll  in  the  morning,  there 
was  no  'here'  in  answer  to  his  name.  We  felt 
sure  he  had  not  deserted.  He  never  would 
have  done  that,  in  spite  of  his  fear,  and  be- 
sides, he  was  with  us  when  we  made  the  turn. 
We  knew  he  was  killed,  and  some  of  us 
wanted  to  go  in  search  of  the  body,  that  we 
might  take  word  of  his  last  resting  place  to  his 
mother,  if  we  should  get  through  alive.  But 
our  orders  were  to  move  forward.  With  heavy 
hearts  we  took  up  our  line  of  march,  having 
sent  word  back  to  Herndon  that  we  had  left 


BACK    IN    THE    SIXTIES.  177 

Joe's  poor  body  on  the  field  of  Shiloh.  That 
was  to  me  one  of  the  hardest  things  of  the 
whole  war,  to  leave  a  friend  dead  on  the  field. 

"A  long  time  afterwards,  one  afternoon 
while  encamped  with  Grant's  army  before 
Vicksburg,  we  had  the  good  fortune  to  run 
across  Burton.  I  tell  you  it  was  like  meet- 
ing one's  own  brother.  We  received  that 
day  fresh  letters  from  the  North.  What 
comfort  and  cheer  they  brought  to  us! 
Letters  from  college,  containing  longed-for 
news  from  old  Hawkeye.  Every  word  was 
more  welcome  than  a  good  beefsteak  would 
have  been,  and  that's  saying  a  good  deal, 
for  we  were  then  on  pretty  short  rations.  Bur- 
ton being  with  us  that  night,  we  all  sat  around 
the  camp-fire  and  talked  of  our  college  days. 
We  talked  over  all  the  boys  who  had  enlisted, 
and  we  could  recall  but  two  who  were  dead — 
Davis  and  Joe.  At  the  mention  of  Joe's 
death,  Burton  jumped  up,  exclaiming: 

'Joe!  Why,  boys,  he's  in  Libby  Prison; 
was  taken  there  along  with  many  other  pris- 
oners after  the  battle  of  Shiloh.  I  saw  a  record, 
of  it  in  a  Richmond  paper, ' 


178  ON    A    WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

"We  could  not  believe  it  till  Burton  had  gone 
to  his  tent  and  produced  the  paper.  Yes,  Joe 
was  alive,  but  that  was  all.  Libby  was  next 
thing  to  death.  I  confess  I  always  thought 
that,  between  being  taken  there  as  prisoner 
and  being  shot,  I  should  prefer  the  latter. 
Well,  after  this  excitement  had  somewhat 
cooled  down,  we  talked  over  every! hing  that 
had  taken  place  before  or  since  we  left  college, 
for  Burton  must  know  everything.  At  last  he 
proposed  that  we  should  sing  to  old  Hawkeye, 
and  we  sang  college  songs  till  Clemens  and  I 
were  ordered  out  on  picket  duty.  The  night 
was  still  and  cold,  with  a  bright  moon.  Every 
sound  could  be  distinctly  heard.  Along 
about  two  in  the  morning  I  heard  Clemens  call 
out,  'Who  goes  there?'  I  was  by  his  side  in  a 
moment  and  we  leveled  our  guns  as  we  saw  a 
figure  step  out  from  the  shadows  of  the  trees. 
There  was  a  man,  gaunt  and  worn,  with 
scarcely  any  clothing.  He  almost  staggered 
forward,  and,  raising  his  hands  as  a  sign  of 
surrender,  said:  'Don't  fire,  boys,  for  the  sake 
of  old  Hawkeye,  don't!'  In  spite  of  his  dread- 
ful appearance,  at  the  sound  of  that  word,  it 


BACK    IN"   THE    SIXTIES.  179 

flashed  over  me  that  that  might  be  Joe; 
thoughtlessly,  I  dropped  my  gun  and  ran 
forward,  just  in  time  to  catch  him  as  he  fell 
from  sheer  exhaustion.  It  was  Joe.  He  had 
indeed  escaped  in  some  mysterious  way  and 
had  made  perilous  search  for  his  old  comrades, 
finally  succeeding  in  reaching  Grant's  forces. 
The  dying  notes  of  our  college  songs  had  guid- 
ed him  straight   to  our   picket  line." 

Mr.  Harrington  sat  for  a  few  moments  silent, 
looking  into  the  fire.  The  boys  said  nothing. 
Then  he  looked  around  with  a  smile  and 
added,  "So  you  see  after  all,  Joe  had  more  ex- 
perience and  saw  more  'sights'  than  the  rest 
of  us." 


For  the  Scarlet  and  Black. 

GEORGE  LAWRENCE  sat  alone  in  his 
room  studying.  It  was  a  miserably  rainy 
night,  and  he  thanked  his  lucky  stars  half  a 
dozen  times  that  the  senior  girl  whom  he  was 
to  have  escorted  to  the  Alpha  Nu  reception 
had  been  suddenly  called  home  to  attend  the 
wedding  of  a  relative.  He  was  sick  and  tired 
of  receptions,  anyway,  and  as  for  the  girls — 
well,  of  course  there  was  one  away  off  in  a  little 
Ohio  village  who  received  regularly  a  square 
envelope,  addressed  in  a  very  masculine  hand, 
and  having  the  Herndon  postmark  distinctly 
visible  in  the  upper  right-hand  corner — but  for 
girls  in  general  he  didn't  care  a  snap  of  his 
finger,  and  to-night  he  smiled  complacently  to 
himself  every  few  minutes  as  he  heard  the  old 
town  hacks  splashing  through  the  mud  in  the 
direction  of  College  Hill. 

He  was  studying,  though  he  hardly  knew 
why,  for  Friday  nights  were  usually  occupied 

(181) 


182  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

in  having  "times"  with  the  boys  and  all  prep- 
aration for  Monday's  recitations  was  squeezed 
into  a  couple  of  hours  on  Saturday.  But  to- 
night all  the  others  in  the  hall  had  deserted 
their  rooms,  and  he  realized  that  it  was  a  gold- 
en opportunity  to  brush  up  a  little  on  psychol- 
ogy, lie  dug  away  for  about  half  an  hour. 
Herbart's  theories  were  troublesome,  to  say 
the  least,  and  he  found  that  he  was  nodding 
in  spite  of  himself,  when  a  resounding  whack 
on  the  door  caused  him  to  jump  up  with  a 
start. 

"Come  in,"  he  called,  throwing  Herbart 
into  the  nearest  corner.  The  door  opened  with 
a  bang  and  in  burst  Ned  Albright,  closely  fol- 
lowed by  a  man  some  dozen  years  his  senior, 
whose  build  and  proportions  at  once  suggested 
the  athlete,  while  his  dress  and  manner  as 
clearly  distinguished  him  as  a  business  man. 

"Hello,  old  man!     Not  studying,  are  you?" 

"Hello,  Ned!  "Well,  not  so  you'd  notice  it. 
Just  pounding  away  a  little  on  this  old 
'psych',"  replied  George,  glancing  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  stranger. 

"Sorry  for  you  from  the  top  of  my  head  up- 


FOR  THE   SCARLET   AND    BLACK.  183 

wards,"  went  on  the  rollicking  Ned.  "0, 
Lawrence,  my  friend,  Mr.  Stanley.  Stanley  is 
an  old  chum  of  my  brother's.  They  were 
class-mates,  you  know.  Graduated  along 
about  '87.  Friend  of  the  family  too,  you 
know.  Just  going  through  the  burg  on  his 
way  south  and  stopped  off  to  see  me  for  an 
hour  or  so.  He  used  to  inhabit  this  den  of 
yours  in  the  old  days  and  wanted  to  run  up 
and  see  how  things  looked." 

"Glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Stanley.  Shake  to 
the  honor  of  the  old  room,"  and  Lawrence 
extended  his  hand  in  such  genuine  comrade- 
ship, that  the  visitor  felt  at  home  at  once. 

"It;s  the  same  old  place,"  he  said,  glancing 
about  the  room.  "Put  the  study  table  in  that 
corner,  the  cane  rack  in  this,  and  half  a  dozen 
more  photos  on  the  mantel,  and  I  wouldn't 
believe  that  ten  years  had  passed  since  I  last 
crammed  Greek  in  that  old  study  chair.  0, 
those  were  great  old  times,"  he  continued. 
"I  would  give  five  years  out  of  my  business 
experience  just  to  have  my  senior  year  back 
again." 

"Well,  you  were  a  big  man  in  your  day,  and 


184  ON   A    WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

you  know  that  makes  all  the  difference  in  the 
world,"  said  Ned,  who  had  been  six  months  a 
Senior  and  took  no  small  amount  of  pride  in 
the  fact.  "Yes,  I  rather  like  being  a  Senior 
myself." 

"Don't  doubt  it  a  bit,"  put  in  George,  "but 
get  a  move  on  yourself  and  shove  that  chair  in 
front  of  the  fire-place  while  I  undermine  this 
pyramid  of  gent's  furnishing  goods.  If  we 
keep  your  friend  standing  in  the  corner  much 
longer,  I  wouldn't  give  my  last  year's  tennis 
racket  for  what  he  thinks  of  our  hospitality." 

"Why,  man,  you're  getting  most  awfully 
fastidious  all  of  a  sudden.  Usually  any  old 
thing  is  good  enough  to  sit  on  in  this 
vicinity." 

"0,  don't  trouble  yourself,  Mr.  Lawrence; 
it  won't  be  the  first  time  I  have  stood  up  in 
this  room  for  want  of  a  place  to  sit  down," 
and  Stanley  continued  contemplating  the  pic- 
ture over  the  mantel-piece. 

Lawrence,  however,  soon  restored  things  to 
order  by  piling  everything  into  a  great  heap 
on  the  bed.  Then  he  wheeled  a  couple  of  chairs 
in  front  of  the  fire  which  Ned  had  set  to  blazing 


FOE   THE    SCARLET   AND    BLACK.  185 

by  throwing  among  the  embers  a  couple  of 
copies  of  Scarlet  and  Black. 

"Is  that  a  picture  of  your  '97  Glee  Club  ?  " 
asked  Stanley,  after  they  had  made  themselves 
comfortable. 

"Which  one?"  inquired  Ned.  "George  is 
such  a  Glee  Club  fiend  he  has  tacked  up  all 
the  Glee  Club  pictures  since  he  was  a  Prep." 
"The  one  in  the  middle  with  the  ribbon 
around  it,"  and  Stanley  designated  the  one  in 
question  with  a  vigorous  flourish  of  his  cane. 

"Yes,"  answered  Lawrence,  "that's  the 
latest.  And  it's  an  all  right  crowd,  if  I  do  say 
it  myself.  We  are  off  for  our  annual  tour 
week  after  next,  you  know,  and  we  expect  to 
take  things  by  storm.  We  haven't  put  in  six 
months  of  hard  work  for  nothing." 

"Good  for  the  Glee  Club!  I  see  the  old- 
time  spirit  still  lives — but  who  is  the  little  fel- 
low in  the  left-hand  corner,  with  the  large 
eyes  and  curly  hair?" 

"0,  that's  Brooks — Jim  Brooks,  or  Jimmy, 
as  we  call  him.  A  Freshman  this  year  and  a 
capital  fellow,  if  he  does  look  like  a  girl. 
And  such  a  voice  — too  high  and  bird-like  for 


186  ON"    A    WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

a  tenor,  but  with  more  real  music  in  it  than 
any  soprano  you  could  rake  up  in  seventeen 
states.  Ever  since  he's  been  here  the  whole 
town  has  been  wild  over  him,  and  the  Director 
of  the  School  of  Music  says  he  hasn't  had 
such  a  voice  in  years." 

"He's  a  comical  little  duffer,  too,"  put  in 
Ned.  "No  one's  ever  glum  when  Jimmy's 
around.  He  knocks  a  fit  of  the  blues  so  hard 
that  things  seem  green  by  contrast,"  and  the 
Senior  gravely  caressed  his  mustache.  "Yes, 
I  don't  know  what  we'd  do  with  out  him,"  went 
on  Lawrence.  "We  have  no  end  of  fun  with 
the  little  fellow.  He's  as  sly  as  a  mouse  but 
he  can't  keep  out  of  scrapes,  and  the  fellows 
have  got  so  they  play  all  kinds  of  jokes  on 
him.  I  sometimes  think  we're  a  pretty  poor 
lot,  but  then  he's  so  good-natured  you  couldn't 
make  him  mad  if  you  tried  a  week. "  And  Law- 
rence complacently  balanced  himself  on  the 
back  legs  of  his  chair. 

No  one  seemed  inclined  to  continue  the  con- 
versation and  Ned  seized  the  opportunity  of 
casting  several  admiring  glances  at  himself  in 
the  mirror  opposite.     Stanley  sat  with  his  eyes 


FOB  THE   SCAELET   AND   BLACK.  187 

still  fixed  upon  the  picture.  Suddenly  he 
looked  around  and  said  quietly  but  earnestly, 
"How  old  is  he?" 

There  was  something  in  his  voice  which 
caused  Ned  to  look  very  sober  for  a  moment, 
and  Lawrence  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to  lose 
his  balance  and  bump  his  head  with  a  whack 
against  the  wall. 

"Why,  er — seventeen  I  guess.  One  of  the 
boys  said  he'd  be  eighteen  next  Easter,"  and 
Lawrence  rubbed  the  bruised  spot  vigorously. 
Stanley's  cane  rattled  unheeded  on  the  hearth. 
He  leaned  his  head  on  his  hands  and  gazed  in- 
tently at  the  glowing  coals.  Finally  he  looked 
up,  and  it  was  not  without  a  touch  of  sadness  in 
his  tone  that  he  said  slowly,  "Well,  that's 
queer!" 

"What's  the  matter?"  demanded  the  others 
in  one  breath. 

Stanley  took  out  his  watch  and  glanced  first 
at  it,  then  at  Ned.  "We've  got  just  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  before  that  train  comes," 
he  said.  "If  you  want  to  spare  the  time,  I'll 
try  to  explain.  Maybe  you  wouldn't  mind 
hearing  the  whole  thing." 


188  ON"   A    WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

"Let's  have  it  by  all  means,"  assented  Ned, 
and  Lawrence  flung  himself  on  the  floor  before 
the  fire  with,  "Psychology  be  hanged!"  Stan- 
ley crossed  one  leg  over  the  other  and  leaned 
back  in  his  chair. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "you  fellows  may  think 
me  superstitious,  or  foolish  or  any  thing  you've 
a  mind  to  call  it,  but  what  you  have  been  tell- 
ing me  about  that  Jim  Brooks  of  yours  is  a 
puzzler.  When  I  was  a  Senior  here,  a  little 
Freshman  entered  college.  That  was  nothing 
unusual,  only  this  was  a  particular  Freshman. 
He  was  just  seventeen,  had  light  blue  eyes  and 
curly  hair  and  was  as  handsome  a  youngster  as 
I  ever  set  eyes  upon.  His  name  was  David 
Clark.  Everybody  liked  him  from  the  first. 
I  verily  believe  he  had  the  happiest  disposition 
any  boy  ever  possessed.  We  used  to  watch 
him  a  good  deal  as  he  went  about  the  campus. 
Why,  he  was  as  fall  of  life  as  four  ordinary 
Freshmen.  It  amused  us  to  see  him  vaulting 
upon  Blair  Hall  porch — he  never  went  up  the 
stone  steps — or  jumping  out  of  the  windows 
of  Goodnow  Hall.  At  first  he  just  wrapped 
the  whole  faculty  about  his   little  finger,  but 


FOR   THE    SCARLET   AND    BLACK.  189 

it  wasn't  a  month  until  they  found  out  that 
that  little  twinkle  in  Davy's  eye  meant  mis- 
chief. One  night  he  climbed  on  the  veranda 
of  the  ladies'  dormitory  and  threw  the  college 
dog,tied  up  in  a  bag,  into  one  of  the  bed-rooms. 
Several  bad  cases  of  hysterics  resulted. 
After  that,  the  faculty  had  it  in  for  him,  and 
many  a  trip  did  the  little  fellow  make  to 
Prexie's  private  sanctum.  But  he  always 
came  out  on  top.  Prex  never  had  the  heart 
to  be  severe,  and  the  day  after  the  interview, 
Davy  was  sure  to  be  found  bobbing  about  as 
serenely  as  ever. 

"But  Davy's  voice — I  remember  distinctly 
the  first  time  we  ever  heard  it.  It  was  his 
first  Friday  morning  at  Chapel.  Davy 
bounded  up  the  stairs  just  a  moment  late  and 
as  the  seats  had  not  yet  been  assigned,  he 
stopped  on  the  threshold  and  glanced  about 
for  a  place  to  sit  down.  I  turned  around  just 
in  time  to  see  his  predicament  and  beckoned 
to  him.  He  saw  me  in  an  instant.  Down  the 
aisle  he  marched  and  squeezed  himself  in 
among  the  Seniors  just  as  Prexie  stood  up  to 
give  out  the  hymn,     I  offered  him  my  book 


190  ON   A    WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

but  he  turned  on  me  with  a  smile  and  said, 
'I  know  it,  I  guess,'  and  fixed  his  eyes  on 
Prex.  Well,  I  started  out  to  sing,  but  before 
I  was  half  through  the  first  score  I  forgot  that 
I  ever  knew  how.  The  young  Freshman  evi- 
dently did  'know  it'.  Such  a  voice  as  that 
was  a  pretty  scarce  article  on  the  front  seats  at 
Chapel,  and  it  wasn't  two  minutes  before  every 
one  else  in  that  end  of  the  room  was  silent. 
Others  as  well  as  myself  were  charmed  with 
Davy's  magnificent  tenor. 

"As  we  filed  out  of  the  chapel  that  morning 
I  said  to  my  chum,  Jack  Niles,  'What's  the 
matter  with  that  for  Glee  Club  material?' 
'What's  the  matter?'  he  repeated,  'why,  man, 
it's  a  sure  go!' 

"To  make  a  long  story  short,"  went  on 
Stanley,  leaning  forward  in  his  chair,  "Davy 
was  elected  to  membership  in  the  club,  and  it 
was  at  the  semi-weekly  practice  that  I  got  to 
know  him  well.  He  was  the  life  of  the  whole 
club  and  you  can't  imagine  how  much  we 
thought  of  him.  One  in  particular,  a  big, 
strapping  Senior  by  the  name  of  Tom,  took 
him   under   his   protection   at   once   and  the 


FOR  THE   SCARLET   AND    BLACK.  191 

friendship  that  existed  between  those  two  was 
remarkable.  It  was  simply  great  to  see  the 
way  they  acted.  Once  Davy  happened  to  be 
late  to  a  rehearsal.  Tom  got  excited  because 
he  didn't  know  the  reason  why  and  couldn't 
find  out ;  he  made  up  for  it  by  grinding  out  all 
the  discord  possible.  Then  the  director  got 
excited.  He  had  just  picked  up  a  paper 
weight  and  ink  bottle  to  settle  matters  with, 
when  in  came  Davy,  and  Tom  sang  as  if  he  had 
never  heard  a  discord  in  his  life.  In  every 
thing  Tom  behaved  just  so.  He  seemed  to 
feel  lost  when  he  didn't  have  Davy." 

"A  la  Damon  and  Pythias,  don't  you 
know,"  observed  the  Senior. 

"Well,  the  weeks  wore  on  and  the  Easter 
vacation  brought  with  it  the  trip.  It  was  an 
old  story  to  some  of  us  and  we  took  it  as  a 
matter  of  course,  but  to  the  new  members  it 
was  the  greatest  event  of  the  year.  Davy 
looked  upon  it  as  the  best  kind  of  an  oppor- 
tunity for  a  lark,  and  from  the  moment  we 
rolled  out  of  the  Herndon  depot  he  Avas  half 
wild.  Every  station  at  which  we  stopped  he 
was  the  first  to  reach  the  platform  when  the 


192  ON   A   WESTEltN   CAMPUS. 

train  slowed  up,  and  the  last  to  leave  it  when 
we  were  off  again.  I  remember  the  afternoon 
just  before  we  gave  our  first  concert  at  Clinton. 
It  had  been  drizzling  all  the  morning  and  all 
of  us  except  Davy  had  stayed  religiously  inside 
the  car.  A  little  wet  weather,  however,  wasn't 
enough  to  dampen  his  spirits  and  if  anything, 
he  was  livelier  than  ever.  Tom  stopped  him 
once  or  twice  and  said  anxiously:  'Go  a  little 
slow  there,  you  young  monkey,'  at  which  Davy 
turned  around  with  an  injured  air  and  looked 
him  straight  in  the  face;  then  they  both 
laughed  outright  and  Davy  knew  he  had  con- 
quered. 

"By  noon  the  clouds  partially  rolled  away. 
The  sun  came  out  and  dried  things  up  a  bit 
and  the  afternoon  was  all  that  could  be  de- 
sired. We  were  due  at  Clinton  at  just  four 
o'clock,  and  as  the  train  had  been  delayed 
somewhat,  the  engineer  was  trying  to  make 
up  for  lost  time.  As  we  pulled  into  a  small 
village  about  ten  miles  distant  from  Clinton, 
Davy  took  his  customary  position  upon  the 
rear  platform.  The  place  was  small.  Only 
two  or  three  men  lounged  about    the   little 


FOR  THE  SCARLET  AN"D  BLACK.    193 

station  and  Davy  was  just  on  the  point  of 
heeding  Tom's  advice  to  'go  slow',  and  stay 
where  he  was,  when  out  of  the  station  door 
rushed  a  young  girl  with  such  an  expectant 
look  on  her  face  that  all  thoughts  of  Tom's 
advice  were  driven  to  the  four  winds.  In  her 
haste  she  dropped  a  small  package  which  she 
carried  in  her  arms.  It  fell  with  a  splash  into 
a  little  pool  of  water  at  her  feet.  That  settled 
it.  Davy  plunged  wildly  into  the  air,  and 
Tom  looked  out  of  the  window  just  in  time  to 
see  the  pool  of  water  do  its  work.  In  the  next 
instant  the  young  lady,  the  package,  and  Davy 
lay  in  a  confused  heap  on  the  platform.  A 
curly  head,  minus  a  hat,  was  just  emerging 
from  the  mass  when  the  train  pulled  away  in 
the  direction  of  Clinton. 

"That  was  only  the  beginning  of  Davy's 
mishaps.  He  came  along  two  hours  later  on  a 
freight  and  sang  with  the  crowd  in  the  even- 
ing, but  the  trouble  he  got  into  from  that  time 
on  would  fill  a  book." 

"Well,  he  was  all  right  as  I  live,"  inter- 
rupted Ned,  "I'd  have  done  the  same  thing 
myself." 


194  OK   A   WESTEKTC   CAMPUS. 

"With  the  same  result  probably,"  grinned 
Lawrence  from  the  hearth  rug.  Stanley  smiled, 
twirled  the  knob  on  his  chair  for  a  few  moments, 
and  then  continued. 

"But  the  concerts — how  we  did  enjoy  them 
and  the  receptions  which  always  followed. 
The  brilliant  footlights  and  the  sea  of  faces, 
the  rollicking  songs  and  the  beautifully 
dressed  maidens  who  smiled  at  us  from  the 
boxes;  each  had  a  fascination  for  us  all,  and 
as  for  Davy,  he  seemed  to  be  living  in  the 
seventh  heaven.  His  voice  never  failed  to  cap- 
ture the  audience  from  the  start  and  many  a 
rosebud  from  daintily-gloved  hands  found  its 
way  to  his  feet.  He  always  acknowledged  the 
favor  with  a  smiling  bow  which  in  itself 
was  enough  to  ensure  an  encore,  and  when  he 
came  out  to  sing  again  his  voice  would  be 
sweeter  than  ever. 

"After  the  first  concert,  Tom  completely 
lost  his  dignity  and  rushed  headlong  into  the 
dressing-room,  tumbling  everybody  right  and 
left  until  he  found  Davy.  Then  he  grabbed 
the  youngster  with  both  hands  and  hugged 
him   vigorously.     'We  made  the  biggest    hit 


FOR  THE   SCARLET   AND   BLACK.  195 

to-night  we've  made  for  years,'  he  exclaimed, 
'and  you  did  it,  Davy,  you  did  it.'  Some  one 
cried  'Rah!  Rah!  Rah!  Davy,'  and  we  took  it 
up  with  a  will  and  yelled  until  the  very  walls 
shook. 

"0,  those  were  times,  times  a  fellow  don't 
forget  very  soon  either.  I'm  not  very  much 
of  a  crank,  but  I'd  be  willing  to  put  the  events 
of  those  two  weeks  alongside  of  any  thing 
that's  happened  here  in  the  last  ten  years. 

"Finally  the  last  concert  came.  We  had  a 
crowded  house.  The  numbers  were  received 
with  enthusiasm  right  along,  but  something 
seemed  to  be  lacking.  Even  Davy  was  de- 
pressed during  the  first  part  of  the  program, 
but  during  the  intermission  he  came  around 
with  a  poor  attempt  at  a  smile,  and  said:  'It's 
the  last  time  we'll  all  sing  together,  fellows, 
but  let's  do  our  best  anyway.  Every  man  of 
us  brace  up  a  bit. ' 

"We  tried  to  follow  out  the  suggestion,  and 
the  next  two  or  three  numbers  were  much 
better,  but  it  was  not  until  we  came  to  the 
last  thing  on  the  program  that  we  really 
livened  up.     That  was  our  dear  old  'Scarlet 


196  ON    A    WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

and  Black'  and  we  couldn't  help  but  do  our 
best.  Davy  cried  out  just  as  we  were  filing  to 
our  places  on  the  stage,  'Whoop  'er  now, 
boys!'  and  we  did  it.  The  first  two  verses  of 
the  old  piece : 

'Sing  to  the  college  with  banner  so  bright, 
0  sing  to  the  Scarlet  and  Black,' 

seemed  to  thrill  us  through  and  through.  Tom 
looked  at  Davy  standing  in  his  place  at  the 
end  of  the  line.  It  was  the  youngster's  favor- 
ite. "With  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back 
and  his  eyes  raised,  he  was  pouring  forth  his 
whole  soul. 

"We  were  in  the  middle  of  the  second 
stanza.  Tom  said  afterwards  that  he  had 
never  felt  so  inspired  in  his  life.  With  light- 
ning-like rapidity  he  went  over  in  his  mind  all 
the  happy  events  of  his  college  days.  His  first 
few  weeks  at  school,  his  prowess  on  the  foot- 
ball field,  his  membership  in  the  Glee  Club, 
and  now  he  was  a  Senior — in  a  few  short 
weeks  it  would  all  be  over,  but  still  to-night  he 
could  sing  and  his  college  song  was  his  inspira- 
tion. 

"Suddenly   a   sharp,  clear  sound  like   the 


FOR   THE    SCARLET   AND    BLACK.  197 

snapping  of  a  pistol  rose  above  our   voices. 
Then  a  slight  crash  and  silence. 

"A  long  row  of  gas-jets  attached  to  a  large 
tin  reflector  extending  the  whole  length  of  the 
stage,  had  swayed  uneasily  in  the  breeze  from 
an  open  window  all  the  evening  long.  The 
strain  had  told  upon  the  small  wire  which 
held  the  jets  and  one  end  had  given  way. 
In  falling  it  had  fortunately  caught  upon  a 
loose  loop  in  one  of  the  ropes  which  regulated 
the  flies  and  hung  suspended  in  the  air  at  an 
angle  of  about  thirty  degrees. 

"Davy  had  seen  the  accident  first,  and  re- 
alized what  might  be  the  consequences. 
Quick  as  a  flash  he  flew  across  the  platform, 
up  the  ladder,  and  in  an  instant  was  bending 
above  our  heads.  The  gas-jets  flickered  dan- 
gerously near  the  dry  and  dusty  flies  and  al- 
ready one  of  them  was  smoking.  Another 
moment  and  the  house  would  be  in  flames. 
With  one  hand  Davy  steadied  himself.  With 
the  other  he  reached  out  after  the  rope.  We 
held  our  breath.  He  might  not  reach  it.  We 
saw  him  bend  lower  and  in  an  instant  the  rope 
was  in  his  hand,  the  gas-jets  once  more  in  place. 


198  ON   A    WESTERN^CAMPUS. 

"'Rah!  Rah!  Davy,' some  one  yelled;  but 
the  cry  was  never  finished. 

"Whether  it  was  from  dizziness  or  a  misstep 
we  never  knew.  Davy  swayed  and  fell.  Tom 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  horror  and  sprang 
forward  with  outstretched  arms.  It  was  too 
late.  A  dark  heap  lay  there  before  us  on  the 
floor.  We  gathered  around  with  blanched 
faces,  as  Tom  sank  upon  his  knees  and  took 
the  little  fellow  in  his  great  strong  arms. 

"  'Are  you  hurt?  Are  you  hurt,  Davy?' 
he  asked  hoarsely. 

"For  one  moment  the  lad  opened  his  eyes 
and  fixed  them  steadily  upon  Tom. 

"  'Tom,'  he  gasped,  'Tom,  it's  all  right — 
tell  them  to  go  on—  The  Scarlet  and  Black — I 
want  them — to. '  And  then  with  voices  that 
trembled  with  emotion,  we  finished  our  Alma 
Mater's  song." 

There  was  a  loud  stamping  of  feet  on  the 
stairway  and  a  strain  of  rollicking  laughter 
came  up  the  corridor  of  the  Old  Hall  as  Stan- 
ley paused.  The  Alpha  Nu's  had  returned 
from  the  reception.     Finally  he  said  slowly: 

"There's  not  much  of  anything  left  to  tell. 


FOR   THE    SCARLET   AND    BLACK.  199 

Of  course  the  curtain  was  rung  down  and  the 
audience  dismissed  as  soon  as  possible.  Two  or 
three  physicians  came  on  the  stage  and  did 
what  they  could,  and  all  of  us  lent  a  hand  to 
make  Davy  comfortable.  Tom  had  placed  his 
burden  upon  a  couch  in  one  of  the  dressing- 
rooms  but  he  still  held  the  curly  head  in  both 
his  hands.  A  consultation  was  hastily  held. 
He  had  suffered  internal  injuries,  they  said; 
he  might  live  a  month — possibly  more — but  he 
would  never  Avalk  again.  At  first  Tom  lis- 
tened as  though  dazed.  Then  he  realized 
what  it  all  meant  and  buried  his  head  in 
Davy's  curls  and  cried  like  a  child." 


The  fire  in  George  Lawrence's  room  had  al- 
most gone  out  when  the  two  visitors  rose  to  go. 

"I  see  I've  missed  my  train,"  said  Stanley 
drawing  on  his  gloves,  "but  this  is  the  first 
time  I've  told  that  story  for  years,  and  when  I 
got  started  I  couldn't  stop." 

"Glad  you  didn't,"  blurted  out  Ned  as  he 
reached  for  his  hat.  Lawrence  leaned  against 
the     mantel-piece,    seemingly     absorbed     in 


200  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

thought.     Finally   he   looked   up   and   asked 
with  an  attempt  at  carelessness : 

"By  the  way,  what  became  of  Tom?" 
The  visitor  hesitated  a  moment.  "He  has 
been  a  real  estate  agent  in  one  of  our  western 
towns  for  the  last  ten  years,"  he  said,  "and 
people  say  he  is  doing  well.  To  the  busi- 
ness world  he  is  known  as  Thomas  Stanley." 


The  Work  of  the  Storm. 

CHAELIE  HILLMAN  was  striding  at  a 
rapid  rate  down  the  railroad,  with  his 
head  hung  low  and  his  hands  thrust  deep  in- 
to his  pockets.  He  had  the  blues.  When 
Charlie  Hillman  had  the  blues  he  usually  felt 
desperate.  He  ought  to  be  at  the  editors'  meet- 
ing at  the  college,  but  then,  he  knew  that  he 
would  only  make  trouble,  and  what  did  he  care 
how  the  paper  came  out?  He  would  graduate 
next  week  and  what  was  the  use  of  wasting 
more  time?  Had  he  not  done  his  share 
already? 

The  day  was  sultry  and  close,  and  the  half- 
haze  seemed  to  increase  the  intense  heat.  The 
sun  appeared  like  an  immense  ball  of  fire, 
grudgingly  going  on  its  course.  A  hot  day  is 
still  hotter  along  a  railroad.  The  sand  gleams 
and  the  rails  glisten  with  more  heat  than  bright- 
ness. The  pebbles  crunched  under  Hillman's 
feet,  the  wires  buzzed,  the  smothered   breath 

(201) 


202  ON    A    WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

of  the  south  wind  burned  his  cheek ;  but  on  he 
went.  Where  was  he  going?  "To  destruc- 
tion," he  might  have  said,"  and  the  sooner  the 
better."  In  the  turmoil  of  his  brain,  he 
almost  wished  that  a  train  might  steal  upon 
him  and  end  his  miserable  existence.  What 
had  he  to  live  for?  Why  was  he  going  to  col- 
lege? What  would  he  do  with  himself  next 
year?  He  didn't  care,  nor  did  anyone.  That 
was  just  it — no  one  cared  whether  he  would  ever 
amount  to  anything.  No  one  ever  sympathiz- 
ed with  him  in  his  troubles.  Well,  there  was 
Maud  Garland,  but  he  had  no  reason  to  think 
that  she  cared  what  he  did.  She  would  prob- 
ably think  him  a  fool  if  she  saw  him  walking 
off  in  this  absurd  manner.  And  he  didn't 
care  what  she  thought.  AVhy  did  she  say  that 
he  did  not  get  his  lessons  as  well  as  he  should ; 
that  he  ought  to  like  Professor  Small?  Why 
did  she  ask  him  if  he  wasn't  wasting  his  time 
reading  instead  of  studying? 

With  such  thoughts,  he  plunged  down  the 
steep  embankment  without  noticing  the  blue 
eyes  of  the  late  violet,  peeping  at  him  as  if  in 
surprise  at  his  ruthless  footsteps,  or  the  white 


THE    WORK    OF   THE    STORM.  203 

anemone  which  he  loved  so  much  at  other 
times.  He  leaped  over  the  fence  as  though  a 
fiend  were  in  pursuit.  He  did  not  stop  until 
he  came  to  a  stream  rippling  gently  before 
him.  He  could  not  jump  across  it.  He  would 
not  turn  back,  so,  flinging  himself  down,  he 
bathed  his  burning  face.  It  was  a  beautiful 
spot.  The  dogwoods  and  elders  were  in  full 
blossom,  and  below  them  the  purple  phlox  and 
may-apple.  The  enterprising  buttercup  at  his 
feet  was  just  sending  out  runners  to  start  new 
colonies.  The  sedges  at  his  side  bent 
gracefully  over  the  whispering  ripples.  Gnats 
and  bees  hummed  about  him.  The  merry 
note  of  the  brown  thrush,  the  clear-toned  call 
of  the  robin  might  have  roused  him.  But  no; 
he  looked  on  all  this  joyous  life  and  beauty  as 
only  a  taunt  to  his  feelings.  Why  should  all 
nature  be  contented  and  happy,  and  he  perfectly 
wretched,  with  nothing  to  live  for?  Why  was 
he  made  with  a  soul  that  must  have  an  object 
in  life?     What  was  he  made  for,  anyway? 

Hours  passed  without  his  notice.  The  sun 
was  sinking.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
scrambled  to  the  track  with  a  vague   sense  of 


204  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

his  distance  from  home  and  of  anxiety  for  his 
sister,  left  alone.  How  strange  the  sky  ap- 
peared. The  sun  was  now  gone,  but  the  whole 
western  heavens  glowed  with  brilliant  red. 
The  soft,  fleecy  clouds  grew  black  and  furi- 
ous, sending  down  long  blunt  fingers  as 
though  eager  to  grasp  the  earth.  A  peculiar  feel- 
ing of  dread  aroused  him  and  with  increasing 
sense  of  concern,  he  hurried  homeward.  The 
clouds  piled  up  behind  him.  Before  he  reached 
home,  the  lightning  became  fearful  and  the 
thunder  terrific.  Fearing  that  his  sister  might 
be  frightened,  he  burst  open  the  door  of  their 
college  home,  and  cried  out : 

"Lucy,  where  are  you?" 

"Here,  Charlie,  where  have  you  been?  Just 
see  what  a  storm  is  coming.  You  might 
have  been  caught." 

Charlie  was  relieved  to  find  his  sister,  who 
was  standing  in  the  west  door,  watching  the 
rolling,  turning  and  twisting  of  the  great 
masses  of  clouds.  She  was  not  frightened 
herself  and  even  his  absence  did  not  cause  her 
alarm,  she  was  so  interested  in  the  sight  be- 
fore her.     Slowly  the  clouds  were  wound,  as 


THE    WORK   OF   THE    STORM.  205 

about  a  great  distaff,  into  one  immense  roll. 
A  shuddering  stillness  came  upon  all  about 
them.  Lucy  unconsciously  clutched  Charlie's 
shoulder.  A  moment  of  breathless  silence, 
and  then  a  distant  roar  as  of  a  thousand  cars, 
which  grew  louder  and  louder ;  then  a  crash  as 
though  heaven  and  earth  had  collided. 

"Oh,  Charlie,  the  college!"  exclaimed  Lucy, 
and  they  watched  the  west  building  totter, 
tremble,  and  fall,  not  as  a  mass,  but  as  though 
each  brick  were  separated  from  the  others.  It 
seemed  to  fall  almost  slowly  and  not  as  the 
roof  and  corners  of  Center  College,  which,  with 
a  sudden  lurch,  took  a  flying  leap  over  miles  of 
space.  It  seemed  hours  as  the  two  stood  and 
watched  that  terrible  sight,  yet  it  was  scarcely 
a  moment  between  the  first  crash  and  the  sud- 
den jerk  of  their  own  house  which  made 
Charlie  catch  his  sister  and  run  to  the  cellar. 
There  they  crouched  in  fear  and  awe.  The 
deep  roar  of  the  storm  and  the  crash  of  the 
trees,  the  thud  of  immense  weights, 
finally  gave  place  to  the  rush  of  roaring  rain. 
Down  it  came  in  torrents  as  though  the  clouds, 
having  failed  to  wreak  full  vengeance  by  wind, 


206  ON   A   WESTEKN   CAMPUS. 

had  burst  in  their  rage  and  poured  out  stream 
after  stream  of  renewed  wrath. 

Charlie  and  Lucy  crept  upstairs,  unwilling 
to  remain  longer  in  the  dark  and  gloomy  cel- 
lar. What  a  sight  was  revealed  to  them  by 
the  intermittent  flashes  of  lightning!  It  was 
perfect  chaos. 

"Lucy,  you  are  all  right,  I'm  going  to  the 
college  to  help.  I  know  there  were  boys  in 
Stewart  Hall,  and  society  had  begun  in  Center 
College.  Hope  they're  not  all  killed." 
Charlie  hurried  from  the  house,  but  found  his 
way  obstructed .  Trees,  mixed  with  lumber  in  a 
confused  mass,  were  piled  in  heaps  before  him ; 
bodies  of  dead  animals  lay  in  his  path ;  rush- 
ing streams  of  water  took  him  off  his  feet. 
Scrambling  up,  he  anxiously  worked  his  way 
on.  At  last  he  succeeded  in  reaching  the  rail- 
road, along  which  he  had  walked  so  dejectedly 
but  a  short  time  before.  He  heard  sounds 
which  made  him  think  the  evening  freight 
had  been  overturned  by  the  storm,  but  he 
could  not  linger  for  anything ;  he  must  get  to 
the  boys.  By  the  aid  of  his  lantern  he  picked 
his  way  across  the  campus.     He  surely  heard 


THE   WORK    OF   THE    STORM.  207 

voices.  All  were  not  killed,  then,  or  perhaps 
others  had  succeeded  in  getting  there  before 
him. 

"Here's  Charlie  Hillman,"  some  one  called 
from  a  group  gathered  by  the  mound  of  bricks, 
timbers,  window-sashes  and  other  wreckage  of 
the  large  building,  all  looking  as  though  it 
had  been  through  the  first  grind  of  an  im- 
mense millstone. 

"Yes,  I'm  here.  Are  you  all  safe?  Are 
there  any  in  the  ruins?" 

"Don't  know.      Where's  Harry  ?" 

"Here,"  came  a  weak  voice  from  the  dark 
heap.  A  terrified  look  came  over  the  boys' 
faces. 

"Come,  let's  get  him,"  and  Charlie  plunged 
forward  into  the  mass.  "Where  are  you, 
Harry?" 

They  suddenly  came  upon  a  form,  scarcely 
visible  by  the  light  of  the  one  lantern,  and 
covered  by  timbers  and  plaster.  George 
Trenton!     How  terrible!     Was  he  dead? 

"I'll  run  for  help  and  give  the  alarm," 
called  one  as  he  sped  away  toward  town. 
Many     from     near    by    began    to    come    in, 


208  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

some  with  axes  and  saws,  others  with  lanterns 
and  crowbars. 

No  one  worked  with  more  strength  and  skill 
than  Charlie  Hillman.  The  violence  of  his 
feeling  in  the  afternoon  was  only  directed  into 
another  channel.  Even  the  terrible  sights 
about  him  did  not  chase  away  his  rebellious 
thoughts.  Why  wasn't  he  under  those  bricks? 
Why  was  he  alive  and  George  Trenton  dead, 
George,  who  had  such  a  bright  life  before  him? 
With  these  thoughts  raging  through  his  brain, 
he  pulled  timber  from  timber,  sawed  and 
pounded  to  release  Harry  Turner.  A  groan 
came  to  the  ears  of  those  at  work.  Turning, 
they  saw  George  raise  his  head  and  look  with 
dazed  eyes  at  the  sight  about  him. 

"George,  are  you  alive?  Thank  God! 
George  is  alive!  I'll  take  care  of  him;  you 
keep  on  with  Harry." 

"Boys,"  and  there  was  a  silence  as  Profes- 
sor Hall  spoke,  "I  think  we  can  work 
better  if  we  know  just  how  many  are  missing. 
I  will  call  the  roll,  and  if  you  know  where  any 
of  the  others  are,  answer."  With  a  quaver  in 
his  voice,  the  dear  old  Professor  commenced 


THE    WORK    OF    THE    STORM.  200 

with  the  A's.  "Julia  Anderson."  "At  home, 
safe,"  answered  her  brother  Tom.  "Then  you 
are  here,  Tom,"  and  two  were  marked  present. 
The  Professor  went  on  checking  those  present 
and  those  reported  safe,  but  when  he  came  to 
Arthur  Camden's  name  there  was  a  silence  that 
meant  more  than  words.  He  was  one  of  the  nob- 
lest of  the  students.  There  could  not  be  a 
more  intense  feeling  of  agitation  and  suspense 
in  a  body  of  students  than  during  those  few 
moments.  Each  feared  to  hear  the  next  name 
called  and  silently  rejoiced  when  the  answer 
came,  "safe".  Five  were  not  accounted 
for.  With  sinking  hearts,  they  turned 
again  to  seek  among  the  ruins  for  the  missing 
ones. 

The  attention  of  all  was  centered  on  this 
one  ruin,  for  the  students  from  Center  College 
were  safe  except  one,  and  it  was  known  that 
he  was  not  in  the  building.  A  search  party 
had  gone  for  him,  while  the  rest  worked  to  re- 
lease Harry. 

Suddenly  a  cry,  "Look  at  Center  College," 
burst  from  many  lips.  Fire !  How  the  flames 
blazed  and  flared !     Phosphorus  in  the  cellar ! 


210  ON    A    WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

Horrible !  The  books  were  in  that  building. 
They  must  be  saved.  Run  for  buckets! 
Call  the  engine!  Carry  the  books  away! 
Hurry  with  the  water!  What  destruction — 
fire  added  to  wind  and  rain !  Such  a  night 
would  never  be  spent  on  that  campus  again. 

Charlie  Hillman  was  again  the  leader.  "With 
renewed  fierceness,  he  swung  buckets  from 
right  to  left.  Minutes  passed  like  hours.  Ex- 
citing danger  kept  him  absorbed  for  a  time, 
but  he  became  restless,  standing  in  the  long 
line.  He  called  another  to  his  place 
and  went  to  the  pump.  The  man  at  the  pump 
was  glad  to  be  relieved.  Charlie  worked  with 
untiring  strength.  Many  wondered  afterward 
at  his  remarkable  endurance.  The  water 
seemed  to  increase  the  flames  instead  of 
quenching  them.  Their  efforts  would  be  in  vain 
if  the  engine  did  not  arrive  soon.  It  seemed 
that  it  would  never  come,  but  if  they  could 
have  seen  the  men  with  the  engine,  as  they 
worked  their  way  through  the  mass  of  ruins 
in  the  flooded  streets,  they  would  not  have 
complained.  Mud,  water,  fallen  trees,  roofs 
of  houses,  everything  hindered  their  coming. 


THE    WORK    OF   THE    STORM.  211 

At  last  they  arrived,  but  it  was  almost  too 
late.  The  streams  from  the  engine  could  not 
put  out  the  fire,  but  only  check  its  progress 
into  the  library. 

Daylight.  What  a  sight  for  the  rising  sun! 
The  college  in  ruins!  Hundreds  of  people 
homeless ;  scores  of  pitiful  dead  faces ! 

Morning!  What  would  it  bring?  Charlie 
Hillman  dared  not  think.  He  was  glad  he 
could  spend  the  day  working  as  he  had  spent 
the  night.  "Maud  Garland!"  The  thought 
of  her  came  over  him  like  a  flash.  Was  she 
safe,  or  was  she  in  the  ruins?  Calling  another 
to  his  work,  he  escaped  from  the  crowd.  He 
made  his  way  through  the  rubbish  towards  the 
east.  He  had  been  told  that  the  storm  was 
less  severe  in  that  part  of  the  town,  and  until 
now  he  had  not  feared  for  her  safety. 

He  saw  many  working  at  their  homes,  or 
where  their  homes  had  been,  bringing  together 
material  to  protect  the  children,  many  of  whom 
were  stripped  of  clothing  and  sat  shivering, 
huddled  in  groups,  waiting  for  shelter.  There 
was  a  group  weeping  over  a  dead  mother. 
Charlie's  heart  recoiled  in  fear,     Could  it  be 


212  ON   A    WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

that  Maud  was  dead?  Why  had  he  not  looked 
for  her  before.  What  an  agony  of  suspense ! 
He  hurried  on,  unconscious  of  everything  but 
the  possibility  that  Maud  might  be  dead, 
when  he  stumbled  and  fell  beside  a  body 
stretched  upon  the  wet  ground.  It  was  a 
child.  With  difficulty  Charlie  recognized 
Donald,  Maud's  little  brother,  whom  the  wind 
had  carried  several  hundred  feet.  Poor  little 
boy!  How  white  his  face  was  and  what  feeble 
breath  came  from  his  lips!  Charlie  wrapped 
his  coat  about  him  and  lifted  him  tenderly  in 
his  arms,  carrying  him  towards  the  place  where 
his  home  had  been. 

There  were  a  number  of  people  gathered 
around  the  ruins  of  Mr.  Garland's  home.  Charlie 
carried  his  burden  to  the  child's  father. 
"Mr.  Garland,  here  is  Donald.  I  found  him 
but  a  short  distance  away." 

"Charlie  Hillman,  did  you  come  from  the 
skies?  My  little  Donald!  Praise  God!  I 
have  been  working  all  night  to  find  him  and 
Maud.  0  my  dear  boy!"  With  manly  tears, 
Mr.  Garland  took  his  still  unconscious  son  and 
caressed  him, 


THE   WORK   OF   THE   STORM.  213 

"I  will  take  him  to  Mrs.  Holland's.  They 
have  one  room  left  which  can  be  used  for  the 
wounded.  Oh,  if  we  could  only  find  Maud! 
Can  she  be  under  the  house,  or  was  she  blown 
away  like  Donald?"  Charlie's  heart  thrilled  at 
the  word  'we'.  The  father  had  unconsciously 
shown  him  that  he  was  a  partner  in  anxiety 
for  Maud. 

"Where  was  Maud  when  the  storm  struck?" 
he  asked. 

"With  Donald,  in  the  dining-room.  You 
see  the  back  wall  is  standing,  but  the  roof  has 
fallen  down  and  leans  against  it.  She  may  be 
under  that  end.  I  have  been  removing  every- 
thing I  could,  but  have  not  heard  a  sound. 
Hark,  what  is  that?"  Charlie  bounded  to  the 
spot. 

"Father,"  and  a  voice  in  pain  came  from 
beneath  the  great  sideboard. 

"Maud!"  Charlie  called  before  the  father 
could  command  his  feelings. 

"Mr.  Garland,  you  take  Donald  and  I  will 
work  here."  With  a  muttered  prayer  of 
thanksgiving,  Mr.  Garland  turned  away. 
Charlie  worked  now  with  a  renewed  strength. 


214  ON   A    AVESTEEN   CAMPUS. 

Not  a  forced,  fierce  strength,  but  strength 
brought  by  the  love  in  his  own  heart  and  the 
encouragement  Maud  gave  him  from  time  to 
time.  Somehow  as  he  worked,  she  seemed  to 
reveal  to  him  a  future  for  himself,  and  every 
trace  of  yesterday's  pain  and  desperation  van- 
ished. Life  opened  with  new  meaning  before 
him.  Whether  Maud  might  live,  or  living, 
love  him,  did  not  trouble  him  at  the  moment ; 
he  loved  her,  and  that  was  enough.  For  an 
hour  they  worked,  until  they  had  moved  away 
the  great  sideboard.  Maud  lived,  and  in  some 
way  he  understood  that  she  cared.  Tenderly 
they  laid  her  on  a  pile  of  clothing  they  had 
gathered.  She  lay  still  and  helpless.  Her 
father  remained  with  her  while  Charlie  went  in 
search  of  a  stretcher. 

There  was  no  dejection  in  the  face  of  Mr. 
Garland  as  he  looked  upon  his  home  in  the 
dim,  morning  light.  Home  and  everything 
might  be  taken  if  only  Maud  and  Donald  were 
spared.  What  were  houses  and  lands  to  the 
loving  presence  of  the  daughter  who  had  so 
well  filled  the  place  left  vacant  in  his  home. 
Mother  and   wife  were  gone,   but  the    third 


THE    WORK    OF   THE    STORM.  215 

angel  which  blesses  a  man's  life,  the  daughter, 
was  still  with  him.  Life  meant  much  to  him 
when  those  trusting  eyes  looked  into  his. 

Such  thoughts  as  these  filled  his  mind  as  he 
talked  with  Maud.  He  told  her  how  he  had 
hunted  for  her  and  Donald;  how  Charlie  had 
found  Donald,  who  Avas  safe  and  out  of  dan- 
ger. She  forgot  her  pain  in  her  joy  at  hearing 
that  Donald  was  alive. 

Upon  the  improvised  stretcher  which  Charlie 
brought,  they  slowly  carried  her  to  the  school- 
house,  which  was  turned  into  a  hospital.  A 
number  of  injured  were  there  before  them,  and 
all  the  skill  and  tenderness  possible  were  used 
to  relieve  them.  Maud  waited  her  turn,  hold- 
ing her  father's  hand  to  help  bear  the  pain. 

Charlie  helped  the  busy  men  and  women  ar- 
range beds,  remove  seats,  and  care  for  the  in- 
jured. He  worked  in  this  way  until  the  sur- 
geon attended  Maud  and  pronounced  her  in- 
juries less  serious  than  they  had  dared  to  hope. 
He  cheered  her  with  hopeful  words,  now  that 
the  uncertainty  was  over.  Then  he  grasped 
Mr.  Garland's  hand  warmly  and  passed  silently 
from  the  room. 


216  ON"   A    WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

It  was  almost  a  feeling  of  exultation  which 
filled  him  as  he  walked  down  the  street.  He 
left  the  sorrow  and  suffering  to  look  again 
upon  nature.  The  contrast  between  the 
devastated  city  and  the  quiet  of  the 
meadows  and  trees  outside,  was  like  the 
change  in  his  own  being;  from  strife  and 
turmoil  to  peace  and  happiness.  He  strolled 
through  a  pasture  and  came  to  a  large  pond. 
This  pond  was  always  well  known  for  its  beau- 
tiful water-lilies.  Charlie  remembered  Maud's 
fondness  for  the  pure  white  flowers.  He  waded 
to  some  of  the  freshest  and  broke  their  stems. 
As  he  looked  upon  their  delicate  whiteness,  he 
compared  them  to  Maud.  He  felt  the  sweet- 
ness of  her  life  appeal  to  him  just  as  the  per- 
fume of  the  lilies  appealed  to  his  senses,  stir- 
ring within  him  a  love  for  the  pure  and  true. 

Home  again!  He  stepped  into  the  kitchen, 
where  Lucy  was  preparing  breakfast. 

"Oh,  Charlie,  have  you  been  working  all 
night?  If  I  hadn't  been  so  busy  I  would  have 
worried  about  you.  Now,  you  must  want 
something  to  eat.     I'll  make  you  some  coffee 


THE    WORK    OF   THE    STORM.  217 

in  just  a  moment.  You  surely  want  some. 
Won't  you  rest  now?" 

"No,  Lucy,  I  shall  find  plenty  to  do.  What 
have  you  been  doing?" 

"Helping  as  much  as  I  could.  Did  you  know 
they  are  taking  all  the  injured  people  to  the 
school-house?  You  did?  Well,  I'm  going  to 
help  nurse.  They  have  asked  the  college  girls 
to  come.  I  can  do  as  much  good  that  way  as 
any." 

Charlie  thought  of  Maud.  "Maud  is  down 
there.     She  is  very  badly  injured." 

"Maud!  Oh,  Charlie,  how  is  she  hurt?  Is 
it  serious?" 

"Not  so  badly  as  we  feared.  Her  limbs  were 
badly  crushed  and  she  suffers  much  pain,  but 
she  will  live.  You  should  have  seen  her  when 
her  father  and  I  carried  her  down  to  the 
school-house;  she  was  so  patient.  She  seemed 
to  think  more  about  Donald  than  of  her  own 
suffering.  I  don't  see  how  anyone  can  be  so 
patient,  but  then  Maud  is  always  so." 

"Yes,  the  dear  girl!  Can't  I  go  down  right 
now  and  see  her?" 

"No,  let's  finish  our  breakfast  and  we  will 


218  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

both  go.  I  went  to  Malcomb's  pond  and  got 
these  lilies  for  her.  Come,  Lucy,  don't  be  so 
grieved,  we  ought  to  be  glad  that  it  is  no  worse. 
Just  think  how  many  were  killed." 

"I  know,  it's  terrible;  I  can  hardly  believe 
it!  Poor  Maud."  They  ate  very  little  break- 
fast. In  a  few  minutes  the  brother  and  sister 
were  walking  toward  town.  So  intent  were  they 
upon  their  own  thoughts  that  scarcely  a  word 
passed.  Lucy  was  filled  with  dismay  at  the 
terrible  ruin  about  her.  It  was  a  miracle  that 
anyone  was  alive  after  such  a  storm.  With  a 
feeling  of  relief,  they  passed  the  ruins  and 
came  to  the  open  streets  again. 

"There  is  Captain  Douglass  in  his  uniform. 
Wonder  why  that  is?  Good-morning,  Captain, 
isn't  this  terrible?" 

"Good-morning,"  said  the  Captain  with  a 
bow.  "You  are  just  the  one  I  want  to  see. 
You  take  this  list  of  the  company  in  the  south 
part  of  town ;  I  will  go  on  here,  and  notify  the 
members  of  a  call  to  the  armory  at  nine  o'clock. 
Explain  in  a  very  few  words  that  it  will  be 
necessary  to  stand  guard  to-day  over  the  scat- 
tered possessions  of  our  citizens.     Train-loads 


THE   WORK   OF  THE   STORM.  219 

of  people  are  coming  in  to  see  the  sights  and 
there  may  be  thieving."  With  another  bow 
the  Captain  went  on.  Lucy  secretly  wondered 
if  anything  in  the  world  would  ever  stir  Mr. 
Douglass  enough  to  make  him  show  any  feel- 
ing. 

Soon  they  reached  the  school-house.  Lucy 
turned  in.     "Aren't  you  coming  in,  Charlie?" 

"No.  I  will  go  to  the  armory.  You  can 
give  these  to  Maud,"  he  said,  handing  her  the 
bunch  of  lilies. 

A  strange  world  this  is.  Each  one  so 
wrapped  in  himself,  yet  finding  pleasure  in  do- 
ing some  little  kindness  for  another.  Life  goes 
in  a  circle ;  from  self  to  others,  from  others  to 
self.     What  is  the  right  feeling  after  all? 

Charlie  walked  along  thinking  these  things. 
He  hoped  that  Maud  would  find  pleasure  in 
the  lilies,  and  that  they  would  turn  her 
thoughts  to  him.  Must  self  be  first?  How 
otherwise?  But  it  was  only  a  moment  that  he 
felt  so ;  no,  life  was  to  be  lived  for  others — for 
Maud. 

It  was  noon.     The  sun  was  glaring  down 


220  ON"   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

upon  the  piles  of  ruins,  and  upon  the  dis- 
tressed people  who  were  collecting  their  furni- 
ture or  keepsakes  to  begin  again  a  home  for 
themselves.  It  was  the  Sabbath,  but  the  peo- 
ple of  the  town  felt  that  they  could  worships 
God  better  that  day  by  helping  their  neigh- 
bors than  by  holding  church  service. 

Charlie  Hillman  stood  above  the  immense 
pile  of  debris,  gun  in  hand,  to  protect  the  people 
in  their  search.  His  grief  for  the  homeless 
only  increased  his  anger  at  the  crowd  which 
surged  around,  picking  up  little  articles  as 
curiosities;  making  rude  remarks  about  the 
appearance  of  the  people;  jesting  at  the  loss 
and  destruction,  with  utter  disregard  for  the 
feelings  and  sufferings  of  those  about.  Could 
people  be  so  thoughtless  as  to  look  upon  suf- 
fering as  a  joke?  How  could  men,  with  in- 
difference, watch  a  mother  gather  little  keep- 
sakes of  her  dead  child?  How  harsh  that  care- 
less laugh  sounded  upon  the  air  so  fraught 
with  pain  and  trouble.  Was  all  kindness  of 
heart  lost?  A  group  of  young  men,  insolently 
puffed  their  cigars  and  turned  away  with  a 
joke,  when  asked  by  two  young  boys  to  help 


THE    WORK    OF   THE    STORM.  221 

remove  a  heavy  timber  from  a  slightly  dam- 
aged piano.  That  was  a  little  thing,  but 
typical  of  the  crowd.  Hundreds  came  and 
looked  upon  the  distress  as  upon  a  circus, 
with  a  prying  curiosity  which  was  cruel  to 
the  sufferers. 

Charlie  watched  all  this,  and  anger  and 
shame  blazed  on  his  cheek.  It  was  a  new  view 
of  humanity.  Was  this  the  world  in  which  he 
was  to  try  life?  Would  all  be  as  selfish  as 
these?  No;  and  then  he  thought  of  Maud. 
He  did  not  care  what  others  were ;  he  would 
live  for  her.  He  rejoiced  that  there  was  some- 
thing above  all  this  sordidness.  So  the  day 
went  on,  distress  and  disregard  before  his 
eyes,  but  kindness  in  his  heart.  Charlie  could 
scarcely  realize  that  it  was  only  yesterday  that 
he  walked  down  the  railroad  track  in  such  a 
reckless  mood.  When  he  was  relieved  of 
guard  duty,  he  felt  as  though  he  had  been  liv- 
ing in  such  scenes  for  an  age.  At  last,  he  felt 
the  need  of  rest  for  mind  and  body.  He  would 
see  Maud,  and  then  he  could  pass  the  night 
in  sleep. 

It  was  a  sad  yet  pretty  sight  which  met   his 


222  ON"   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

eyes  when  he  entered  the  hospital.  White 
curtains  and  drapings,  with  here  and  there 
bouquets  of  June  flowers,  made  the  place  seem 
pure  and  sweet.  There  was  much  suffering, 
but  more  patience;  and  there  were  some 
smiles  for  him  as  he  passed  down  the  room. 
Maud  welcomed  him,  and  thanked  him  for  the 
lilies.  He  watched  her  with  loving  glance  as 
she  fondled  her  little  brother  sitting  with  his 
head  near  her  own.  Her  gentle  love  and 
patience  made  him  almost  reverence  her.  He 
no  longer  wished  he  was  under  that  pile  of 
bricks,  and  he  felt  that  he  had  as  bright  a  life 
before  him  as  George  Trenton.  Life  meant 
more  to  him  now,  although  a  cyclone  from 
heaven  was  needed  to  bring  the  revelation. 


The  Professor's  Story. 

IT  WAS  the  last  evening  in  December,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  the  skies  themselves  were 
draped  in  sorrow  for  the  dying  year.  The 
smoke  hung  low  in  the  streets,  and  mingling 
with  the  slowly  drifting  mist,  veiled  the  col- 
lege town  of  Herndon  in  a  mantle  of  gloom. 

Professor  Townsend's  residence  on  Campus 
Square  loomed  in  the  struggling  light  of  the 
street  lamps,  frowning  and  stern  as  a  prison. 
Yet  once  within  and  all  was  changed.  The 
large  parlors,  still  adorned  with  Christmas 
holly  and  other  bits  of  winter  greenery,  were 
filled  with  guests.  A  fire  that  would  have 
added  cheer  to  any  yule-tide  blazed  brightly  in 
a  wide  hearth.  Its  dancing  beams  imparted 
a  pleasing  warmth  to  the  old  paintings  and 
adorned  with  curious  reflections  a  profusion 
of  vases,  statuettes,  bric-a-brac  and  other 
treasured  mementos  of  the  host's  journeyings 
far  afield. 

(223) 


224:  ON   A   WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

It  was  a  watch-night  function,  and  as  Pro- 
fessor Townsend's  capabilities  as  a  host  were 
in  high  repute  on  Campus  Square,  the  faculty 
was  out  in  force.  The  mourning  skies,  with 
their  trailing  shrouds  of  fog  and  smoke  had 
not  stained  a  single  face  with  sadness.  Glad 
welcome  for  the  new  year  that  would  be  born 
with  the  morning  rang  in  every  voice.  It 
shone  in  the  beaming  faces  of  staid  matrons, 
and  again  in  the  unwonted  vivacity  of  the 
demure  lady  teachers  from  the  academy.  It 
was  reflected  anew  in  the  unrestrained  good 
humor  of  the  senior  professors,  and  was 
focussed  almost  to  ignition  in  the  animation 
of  the  younger  instructors.  This  glow  of  good 
nature  melted  scholastic  reserve  and  class- 
room seriousness,  and  soon  reduced  even  the 
most  refractory  elements  to  a  delightful 
fusion. 

The  gifted  host  scientifically  placed  every 
guest  in  contact  with  the  proper  opposite,  so 
that  not  a  single  discordant  note  marred  the 
social  harmony.  He  paired  the  austere  senior 
professor  with  Miss  Lamar,  the  instructress  in 
French,     Her  vivacity  and  wit  were  contagi-^ 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   STORY.  225 

ous  and  soon  his  wintry  face  beamed  like  a 
June  morning.  The  diffident  young  geolo- 
gist was  entrusted  to  the  lady  principal,  a 
genial  soul  whose  mere  presence  was  a  bene- 
diction to  a  bashful  man.  The  youthful  but 
eccentric  Professor  Rolleston  was  consigned 
to  the  social  mercies  of  the  amiable  hostess. 
Every  guest  was  made  at  ease  and  soon  the 
rooms  were  filled  with  the  confused  hum  of 
voices.  The  stream  of  merry  sound  flowed 
on,  broken  continually  by  ripples  of  laughter, 
and  lashed  now  and  then  almost  to  under- 
graduate boisterousness  by  the  jokes  of  the 
facetious  Latin  professor. 

Music  came  and  then  refreshments,  after 
which  the  host  rose  and  said:  "We  will 
consider  the  long  couch  at  the  angle  of  the 
fire-place  a  sort  of  prisoners'  bench.  The 
bachelors  of  this  company  will  seat  them- 
selves thereon  and  await  sentence."  After 
arranging  the  remainder  of  the  company  in  a 
wide  semi-circle  facing  the  smiling  culprits 
and  turning  off  the  lights  so  that  only  the 
beams  from  the  hearth  lighted  the  expectant 
faces,  he  continued,  with  feigned  seriousness: 


226  ON   A   WESTEKN    CAMPUS. 

"The  bachelor  is  multiplying  among  us  and 
in  connection  therewith  I  have  noted  another 
significant  fact.  The  genus  Spinster  which 
was  once  an  exotic  and  rarely  bloomed  among 
us,  now  appears  quite  naturalized  in  our  midst. 
Our  bachelors  are  certainly  reprehensible,  and 
I  take  it,  that  any  civilized  method  of  domes- 
tication will  meet  with  approval.  Bachelors, 
stand  up,  while  I  pronounce  doom!  In  par- 
tial expiation,  you  shall  each  relate,  for  the 
edification  of  this  watch-night  gathering,  some 
interesting  experience  of  your  college  life. 
Total  expiation  will  doubtless  prevent  a 
repetition  of  this  sentence,  for  the  new  year  is 
a  multiple  of  four.  Professor  Carter  is  first  on 
my  card." 

The  junior  members,  as  a  body,  were  men 
of  unusual  talents,  and  some  rare  tales  followed. 
Several  were  fresh  from  foreign  scenes  and  two 
had  penetrated  the  mystic  veil  of  the  orient. 
Some  narrated  with  delightful  informality; 
others,  for  contrast,  embellished  their  tales 
with  many  elegancies  of  the  story-telling  art. 
Even  the  timid  geologist  surprised  the  com- 
pany with  a  capital  story  of  Oberlin  days.     To 


THE   PROFESSOE'S   STORY.  227 

the  pleased  listeners  each  new  tale  seemed  more 
captivating  than  the  last.  The  penalty  in- 
flicted apparently  in  jest  resulted  in  a  royal 
contest. 

The  group  of  the  condemned  thinned,  one 
by  one,  until  only  Professor  Rolleston  re- 
mained. Then  the  interest  slackened,  for  the 
company  felt  that  the  story-telling  was  at  an 
end.  No  one  had  ever  known  Professor  Rol- 
leston to  lay  aside  his  peculiar  reserve,  during 
his  two  years  in  the  chair  of  history.  The 
opinion  prevailed  that,  whatever  his  ability  in 
the  class-room,  outside  of  it  he  was  decidedly 
an  enigma,  and  that  socially,  at  least,  he  was 
an  insignificant  figure.  The  instructress  in 
French  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  leaning 
toward  her  companion,  confided  in  a  low  tone : 
"I  am  sure  Professor  Townsend  has  made  a 
mistake  this  time.  The  idea  of  saving  Pro- 
fessor Rolleston  until  the  last !  Why,  any  one 
of  them,  even  our  shy  geologist,  would  have 
done  better!  It's  a  pity  to  spoil  such  a  pro- 
gram with  an  anticlimax." 

Professor  Rolleston  rose.  There  was  a  re- 
fined strength  in  his  clean-cut  features,  but 


228  ON   A    WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

his  dark,  far-gazing  eyes  gave  an  expression 
of  almost  mysterious  reserve  and  abstraction 
to  his  sober  face.  He  began  by  explaining,  in 
a  hesitating,  embarrassed  manner,  that  the 
host  had  asked  him  the  day  before  to  be  ready 
with  some  story  of  his  student  days. 

"Professor  Townsend  knew,"  he  went  on, 
"that  I  spent  part  of  my  college  life  on  the 
Pacific  Coast,  and  suggested  that  I  relate 
some  incident  of  my  life  there.  I  had  my 
share  of  adventures,  but  I  could  not  entertain 
you  by  trying  to  tell  them.  I  am  not  a  story- 
teller, so  I  asked  if  I  might  read  one  instead. 
During  my  senior  year  at  Berksly,  I  had  an 
unusual  experience  on  New  Year's  eve.  I 
spent  the  vacation  in  the  Sonoma  country 
looking  up  material  in  old  Spanish  records,  for 
an  historical  essay.  Late  in  the  afternoon  of 
the  last  day  of  the  year,  I  set  out  upon  a  drive 
of  twenty  miles  to  the  little  seaside  village  of 
Villanne.  The  road  was  unexpectedly  diffi- 
cult, the  fog  came  in  and  I  got  lost  in  the 
coast  hills.  I  finally  found  shelter  at  a  ranch- 
house.  What  my  hostess  told  me  that  night 
impressed  me  so  deeply  that  I  wrote  it  out  the 


THE    PROFESSOR'S    STORY.  229 

next  day  while  her  words  were  fresh  in 
memory.  It  is  a  sober  story,  but  I  thought  it 
might  not  be  out  of  place  to  read  it  to  you  in 
this  last  hour  of  the  departing  year." 

His  hesitation  was  disappearing  now  and  all 
eyes  were  turned  upon  his  grave,  earnest  face. 
Yet  the  attention  was  prompted  more  by  curi- 
osity than  by  any  anticipation  of  what  was  to 
follow.  The  hostess  placed  a  reading  lamp  so 
that  its  screened  beams  fell  upon  his  man- 
uscript. The  touch  of  the  pages  was  an  in- 
spiration, an  open  sesame  to  a  new  side  of  his 
nature.  He  seemed  to  change  before  them 
and  the  unexpected  revelation  gave  his  words 
peculiar  charm  and  power.  In  a  voice  which 
gathered  earnestness  and  pathos  as  he  went 
on,  he  read  the  following  story : 


After  wandering  about  in  ink-like  darkness,  it 
seemed  for  hours,  completely  confused  and  be- 
wildered, there  suddenly  appeared  a  glow  in 
the  fog.  My  horse  stopped  short  and  would 
not  budge.  Then  it  flashed  upon  me  that 
perhaps   I   had   reached   the   brink    of    some 


230  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

precipice  near  the  ocean,  and  that  the  glow 
came  from  a  signal  light  upon  an  opposing 
cliff.  Somewhat  frightened,  I  groped  my  way 
cautiously  around  to  my  horse's  head.  But, 
instead  of  finding  the  edge  of  an  abyss,  I 
struck  my  head  solidly  against  a  beam,  and, 
for  a  moment,  the  whole  firmament  blazed 
with  signals.  Yet  I  never  received  a  more 
welcome  jolt.  The  beam  was  a  part  of  a 
huge  gate  with  a  roadway  leading  through  it. 
I  opened  it  and  leading  my  exhausted  horse 
slowly  up  the  lane,  found  a  large  ranch-house, 
from  a  window  of  which  the  light  was  stream- 
ing into  the  fog.  I  went  to  the  door  and 
knocked.  It  was  promptly  opened,  and  in 
the  light  that  flooded  through  it,  stood  a  gray- 
haired  woman  with  large,  black,  flashing  eyes, 
who  surveyed  me  keenly  from  head  to  foot. 

"Well,  sir,  what  do  you  want  here?"  was 
the  abrupt  greeting  which  followed  her  search- 
ing glance.  For  an  instant  I  was  confused. 
She  had  not  given  me  time  to  say,  'Good  even- 
ing.' Then,  realizing  the  seriousness  of  my 
plight,  I  said:  "I  want  a  place  to  stay  over 
night,  some  supper  for  myself  and  shelter  for 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   STORY.  231 

my  horse.  I  started  from  Santa  Rosa  for  Vil- 
lanne  about  sunset.  I  have  lost  my  way  in 
the  fog,  and  my  horse  is  tired  out." 

"Well,  you  haven't  travelled  very  fast  then. 
You  are  some  distance  off  the  direct  road,  but 
all  you  have  to  do  is  to  keep  on  down  the 
coast  for  seven  miles.  I  don't  like  to  keep 
strangers,"  she  replied  curtly. 

I  answered  with  some  earnestness:  "My 
horse  cannot  stand  it.  Even  if  I  shouldn't 
get  lost  again,  he  will  never  pull  me  through 
seven  miles  of  stones  and  sand  to-night.  If 
you  can't  keep  me,  I  shall  have  to  sleej)  out 
in  the  fog."  She  did  not  reply  for  an  instant. 
Then  suddenly  her  whole  manner  changed, 
and,  in  a  softened,  almost  tremulous  voice  she 
said:  "I  can't  let  you  do  that.  My  accom- 
modations are  not  just  what  I  should  like  to 
offer,  but  you  are  welcome.  Come  in  and  dry 
yourself.  My  man  will  attend  to  your  horse 
and  I  will  get  you  something  to  eat." 

I  thanked  her  warmly,  and,  entering,  found 
myself  in  a  large  living  room,  with  a  deep  re- 
cess or  kitchen  at  one  side.  There  was  a 
cheerful  fire,  and   by  a  window,  there  was  a 


232  ON   A   WESTERN   CAMPtTS. 

table  with  a  number  of  books  and  the  lamp 
that  had  lighted  me  in  through  the  fog.  The 
furniture,  though  old-fashioned,  betokened  a 
fairly  prosperous  owner,  and  there  was  such  an 
appearance  of  order  and  comfort  that  I  began 
to  feel  at  home  at  once. 

My  hostess  called  the  ranchman  and  soon 
had  my  supper  steaming  over  the  fire.  Her 
manner  was  kindness  itself  and  there  was  an 
air  of  intelligence  and  refinement  about  her, 
that  aroused  my  interest  deeply.  As  I  sat, 
warming  my  benumbed  hands  and  stretching 
my  stiffened  limbs,  I  began  to  speculate  upon 
her  position  and  history.  The  wrinkles  of  her 
pale  face  seemed  deeply  written  records  of 
struggle  and  sorrow.  Yet  there  was  strength 
and  determination  also.  Her  positive  manner, 
the  promptness  and  authority  with  which  she 
gave  her  orders  to  the  ranchman,  together 
with  the  minute  directions  which  she  added 
to  her  commands,  proved  that  she  was  master 
there  and  the  only  one.  Yet  why  should  such 
a  woman  live  alone  in  this  wilderness?  And 
again,  what  had  so  suddenly  altered  her  man- 
ner towards  me? 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   STORY.  233 

But  at  this  point  my  speculations  were  in- 
terrupted by  her  call  to  supper.  She  seated 
herself  opposite  me  and  waited  upon  me  at- 
tentively. After  a  few  questions  concerning 
my  journey,  she  suddenly  asked:  "You  are 
from  the  East,  are  you  not?  You  haven't  been 
long  on  the  coast." 

Somewhat  surprised,  I  answered:  "Yes,  I 
am  from  the  East.  My  parents  are  New 
Yorkers.  I  have  been  in  the  West  two  years." 
She  said,  "I  was  sure  that  you  were  a  new- 
comer. There  is  a  certain  air  and  accent 
about  people  from  the  far  East.  I  recognize  an 
Easterner  almost  at  first  sight. "  Then  after  a 
slight  pause  she  added.  "Still  it  isn't  many 
that  I  see  in  this  wilderness." 

There  was  a  tone  of  sadness  in  this  last 
remark  that  started  anew  my  train  of  specu- 
lations. We  talked  on  in  commonplaces  un- 
til I  finished  my  meal.  Detecting  occasionally 
what  I  judged  an  anxious  look,  I  determined 
to  allay  if  possible  any  suspicion  or  fear  which 
she  might  have  concerning  me.  So  I  ex- 
plained, in  detail,  my  errand  to  Villanne,  and 
then  related  how  I  came  to  the  coast  to  im- 


234  ON   A   WESTERN"   CAMPUS. 

prove  my  health,  continue  my  studies  and  to 
see  more  of  the  world. 

"And  unlike  most  new-comers,"  I  went  on, 
"I  have  not  been  homesick  for  a  single  day. 
I  spend  most  enjoyable  vacations  in  \  he  moun- 
tains and  at  the  seashore,  seeing  more  of 
nature  and  less  of  men.  I  am  getting  on  well 
at  college  also.  During  the  past  two  years  at 
Berksly ." 

But  I  did  not  finish  my  sentence.  At  the 
name  Berksly,  she  sank  back  in  her  chair  with 
a  stifled  moan,  and  covered  hj^r  face  with  her 
hands.  In  a  moment  she  recovered  herself 
but  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes  as  she  said  in 
a  voice  full  of  emotion:  "Berksly,  Berksly, 
you  do  not  know  what  sorrow  that  name 
awakes  in  me.  I  have  sometimes  wished  that 
Berksly  had  been  sunk  in  the  middle  of  the 
bay." 

She  paused  a  moment  and  then  the  tears 
came  like  rain.  I  was  silent.  Her  grief  was 
too  deep  for  one  who  did  not  share  it  to  com- 
fort, yet  she  noticed  my  silent  sympathy,  and 
struggling  to  control  her  emotion,  went  on :  "I 
know  it  is  a  weak  and  foolish  thing  to  cry,  but 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   STORY.  235 

there  have  been  many  times  when  I  would  have 
given  all  that  I  owned  for  tears.  Your  sud- 
den coming  has  moved  me  deeply,  and  I  feel 
that  I  must  tell  you  why.  Your  young  face 
and  Eastern  accent  have  taken  me  back  to  the 
time  when  I  was  young  and  hopeful.  My 
parents  too,  were  New  Yorkers,  and  when  I 
was  young  I  had  all  that  money  and  social 
position  could  give.  I  attended  the  best 
schools  and  took  a  high  rank.  Friends 
prophesied  great  triumphs  for  me.  I  was 
called  beautiful  and  it  must  have  been  true, 
for  I  know  that  I  was  proud  and  had  would-be 
lovers  by  the  score.  I  was  Milton  Sherwood's 
daughter,  and  would  inherit  not  only  wealth 
but  the  prestige  of  an  old  family  name. 

"Among  the  many  who  crowded  around  me 
there  was  one  whose  mere  presence  was  a  charm. 
He  was  manly  and  handsome,  and  esteemed  me 
too  highly  to  weary  me  with  flattery.  We  be- 
came fast  friends  and  in  time,  though  I  never 
acknowledged  it,  lovers.  I  was  proud  and  rich. 
He  was  a  poor  young  lawyer  with  no  resources 
but  his  education  and  his  active  brain.  I 
could  not  see  how  even  love  could  bridge  the 


236  ON   A    WESTERN    CAMPUS. 

gulf  between  his  position  and  mine.  One  day 
a  decisive  moment  came,  and  though  my  pride 
made  me  say,  friendship, it  cost  me  inexpressible 
pain.    It  seemed  as  if  I  had  sacrificed  my  soul. 

"And  then  in  a  period  of  benumbed  relaxa- 
tion I  allowed  a  broker's  son  to  pay  me  his 
court.  He  was  a  commonplace  young  man 
but  he  had  money  and  a  long  line  of  aristo- 
cratic ancestors.  The  social  world  was  de- 
lighted, our  parents  approved,  and  we  were 
married.  But  there  was  a  hollowness  in  my 
affection  for  him  because  there  was  an  empti- 
ness in  my  life  when  I  realized  that  he  whom  my 
inmost  heart  had  worshipped  had  gone  out  of 
it  forever.  Yet  I  tried  to  forget,  for  I  knew 
what  had  been  done  was  irrevocable.  I  wished 
to  make  my  husband  happy.  He  should  not 
suffer  through  my  mistaken  pride. 

"A  child  was  born,  and,  in  addition  to  the 
passion  of  motherhood,  all  the  pent-up  love 
of  my  heart  was  lavished  upon  that  boy.  I 
had  something  to  live  for  and  a  new  and 
stronger  tie  bound  me  to  my  husband.  Soon 
his  baby  prattle  and  the  patter  of  his  little  feet 
broke  the  silence  of  our  old  house.     But  one 


THE    PKOFESSOR'S    STORY.  237 

summer  morning  as  the  nurse  and  I  were  start- 
ing for  a  drive,  he  slipped  away  from  us,  and 
before  we  missed  him,  was  in  the  street.  The 
next  moment  I  heard  a  shout  and  saw  a  dray- 
man, with  a  look  of  horror  in  his  face,  bring 
his  horses  upon  their  haunches.  But  it  was 
too  late.  My  child  was  crushed  before  my 
eyes. 

"More  light  went  out  of  my  life  that  summer 
morning  than  I  thought  could  ever  return  to 
it  again.  My  loss  seemed  a  judgment  sent 
upon  me  for  being  untrue  to  the  holiest  pas- 
sion I  had  known.  Then  I  hated  my  false 
pride,  and  the  false  value  I  had  placed  upon 
money.  In  my  wild  grief  I  began  to  hate  the 
city  and  almost  to  loathe  our  home.  The  pave- 
ments seemed  cruel  and  blood-stained,  and 
each  time  a  heavy  load  went  rumbling  by,  that 
terrible  scene  would  flash  upon  me  and  drive 
me  wild. 

"Just  then  the  news  of  gold  in  California 
reached  New  York,  and  a  frenzy  of  excitement 
followed.  One  day  my  husband  came  home 
and  said  that  a  company  of  merchants  had 
chartered  a  ship  to  Aspinwall,  and  that  if  I 


238  ON   A   WESTERN-   CAMPUS. 

would  consent  he  would  sail  with  them  for  the 
gold  fields.  I  answered,  'Take  me  with  you 
and  you  can  go. '  He  argued  the  dangers  and 
hardships,  but  I  was  young  and  daring  and 
the  idea  took  hold  upon  me  like  an  inspiration. 
Life  in  the  city  had  become  unbearable,  and  I 
hailed  escape  from  it  as  a  slave  hails  freedom. 
Danger  and  hardship  would  be  welcome  if  they 
brought  relief  from  the  remorse  and  grief  that 
distracted  me. 

"My  will  prevailed,  and  we  sailed,  leaving 
behind  home,  parents,  friends,  and  all  the 
luxuries  of  our  wealth  for  an  unknown  future 
in  an  unknown  land.  The  journey  was  long 
and  hard,  but  we  reached  San  Francisco  safely, 
passed  up  to  Sacramento  and  joined  a  pack-train 
for  the  foot-hills.  There  were  many  trials  by 
the  way,  but  the  wildness  and  novelty  of  the 
scene,  and  a  secret  exultation  at  my  triumph 
over  the  unusual,  bore  me  up. 

"How  I  survived  what  followed  at  the  mines, 
I  cannot  tell.  I  saw  continually  around  me, 
strong  men  die  from  fever,  from  exposure, 
from  homesickness  and  despair.  Many  were 
the  dying  hands  I  held  in  mine,  and  many 


THE    PROFESSOR'S    STORY.  239 

were  the  last  messages  I  wrote  to  wives  and 
sweethearts  across  the  plains.  And  as  I  wrote 
those  sad  farewells  of  strong  men  to  those  for 
whose  sake  they  had  dared  to  face  such  dan- 
gers, my  own  grief  lost  its  sharpness. 

"My  husband  shared  the  common  fortune  of 
the  gold  hunter,  sometimes  rich,  sometimes 
almost  without  a  dollar,  but  always  full  of 
confidence  that  there  was  a  great  fortune  just 
ahead.  But,  at  last,  after  a  very  disastrous 
year,  he  came  to  me  and  said:  'Mary,  I  put 
all  I  had  in  the  Victoria  except  a  few  hun- 
dred. It's  a  complete  failure,  and  it's  all 
gone.  I'm  completely  discouraged.  Come, 
let  us  go  down  to  the  coast  and  begin  over 
again.' 

"So  we  came  here,  bought  a  thousand  acres 
of  the  Spanish  owner  for  a  trifling  sum,  and 
began  sheep-raising  in  a  modest  way,  for  all 
our  former  wealth  had  been  lost  at  the  mines. 
Those  were  wild,  free  days,  though  some  were 
long  and  lonesome.  Traces  of  my  old  sor- 
row came  back  at  times,  but  time  and  distance 
had  removed  the  bitterness  and  the  sting.  I 
had  grown  into  a  new  life  in  a  new  land. 


240  ON   A    WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

"We  prospered.  I  became  more  and  more 
contented  and  into  this  contentment  came  a 
great  joy.  It  was  another  son,  the  child  of 
my  maturest  womanhood,  strong  and  beauti- 
ful, and  how  I  loved  him!  It  was  more  than 
any  girlish  mother's  love.  It  was  the  strong 
love  of  ripe  years,  made  tender  by  trial  and 
sorrow,  and  made  holy  by  the  memory  of  the 
little  one  snatched  from  me  years  before." 

My  hostess  was  silent  for  a  moment.  I 
looked  up  and  saAV  that  her  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  something  far  away,  and  for  a  moment 
her  face  lighted  with  an  expression  which  I 
shall  never  forget  as  she  recalled  the  purest 
passion  known  on  earth,  a  mother's  love  for  her 
child. 

Then  she  continued :  "The  child  grew  and 
it  seemed  as  if  all  I  had  ever  dared  to  hope 
for  unfolded  with  his  unfolding  life.  All  the 
grief  and  remorse  and  rebellion  of  my  earlier 
life  faded  out  in  the  presence  of  my  joy. 
Every  passion  of  my  heart  and  every  energy  of 
my  soul  was  centered  upon  the  child.  And 
should  he  know  sorrow  as  I  had  known  it? 
Never,  and  I  banished  the  past. 


THE    PROFESSOR'S   STORY.  241 

"The  years  passed  more  quickly  than  the 
months  do  now,  and  my  Harry  grew  to  boy- 
hood. He  showed  a  studious  turn  of  mind, 
and  for  his  sake  I  became  a  student  again. 
Books  which  I  had  not  touched  for  twenty 
years  were  opened,  and  subjects  not  thought 
of  since  my  seminary  days  were  taken  up  anew. 
Before  he  was  born  all  the  gold  in  the  Sierras 
would  not  have  tempted  me  to  touch  any 
thing  that  would  raise  up  the  cruel  ghosts  of 
the  past.  Harry  had  an  active  mind  and  we 
planned  to  prepare  him  for  college.  I  was  to  go 
with  him  to  the  city  while  my  husband  was  to 
divide  his  time  between  the  city  and  the  ranch. 

<4But  at  this  time  my  husband,  while  on  his 
way  to  market  was  caught  in  a  cold  rain. 
Pneumonia  resulted,  and  in  two  weeks  Harry 
was  fatherless.  The  poor  boy  seemed  like  one 
stunned,  and  perhaps  was  never  quite  himself 
again.  My  own  grief  was  deep,  for  my  hus- 
band was  always  kind,  and  in  his  quiet  way, 
Joved  me  with  a  constancy  which  none  of  our 
varied  fortunes  ever  shook.  It  was  not  his 
fault  that  I  had  not  been  always  happy,  and  T 
knew  it  all  too  well. 


242  ON   A    WESTERS   CAMPUS. 

"All  plans  for  Harry's  schooling  were  broken. 
I  dared  not  entrust  the  management  of  the 
ranch  to  a  stranger,  for  it  was  our  only  source 
of  income,  and  I  could  not  bear  to  think  of 
sending  Harry  away  alone.  But  after  two 
more  years  of  study  together,  I  felt  it  my  duty 
to  send  him  to  college.  So  he  went  to 
Berksly.  At  first  it  was  hard  to  stay  out  in 
these  lonely  hills  without  him,  but  he  suc- 
ceeded so  well  and  was  so  hopeful  and  happy 
that  I  soon  learned  to  bear  it.  He  worked 
hard  and  earnestly  and  made  a  good  record. 
At  the  end  of  the  second  year,  the  president 
wrote  me  that  he  was  the  strongest  man  in  his 


"In  his  junior  year  he  was  selected  one  of  the 
speakers  for  the  intercollegiate  debate.  He 
threw  himself  into  preparation  with  great 
earnestness.  He  wrote  that  Berksly  had  the 
weaker  side,  that  one  of  the  speakers  against 
them  was  the  finest  student-orator  in  the 
State,  consequently  it  would  take  the  hardest 
kind  of  work  to  win.  He  complained  of  a  lack 
of  time,  and  at  last  I  consented  to  his  remain- 
ing until   after  the    debate    before    visiting 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   STORY.  243 

home.  I,  too,  was  anxious  that  he  should 
win.  It  would  be  a  double  reward  for  the 
years  of  study  with  him,  if,  besides  leading 
his  class,  he  should  make  his  mark  in  debate. 

"As  the  winter  wore  away,  I  noticed  that  his 
letters  were  peculiar,  but  thought  it  due  to  his 
great  interest  in  the  coining  contest. 

"At  last  the  day  came.  That  evening  I  sent 
my  man  to  the  telegraph  station  to  await  news. 
At  midnight  he  came  back  with  two  messages 
that  made  me  the  proudest  woman  on  the 
coast  that  night.  One  was  from  Harry  and 
said:  'Mother,  we  have  won.'  The  other 
was  from  the  president  and  read:  'Berksly 
wins.  Your  son's  work  did  it.'  If  I  had 
known  that  his  work  was  his  life  blood,  and 
that  the  triumph  was  to  be  purchased  at  such 
cost! 

"On  the  second  evening  afterward  in  just 
such  a  fog  as  this  I  heard  a  knock  at  the  door. 
I  opened  it,  and  before  it  stood  a  college 
friend  of  Harry's.  'Harry  is  sick,'  he  said, 
'and  the  doctors  said  we  should  take  him 
home  at  once.  It's  nervous  prostration. 
Overwork  and  too  much  mental  strain  did  it, 


244  ON   A    WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

but  I  think  home  and  mother  will  bring  him 
out  all  right.'  At  first  I  was  not  seriously 
alarmed,  but  when  they  brought  him  in  as 
weak  as  a  child,  and  I  saw  his  pale,  changed 
face,  the  walls  seemed  to  fall  in  upon  me.  I 
felt  that  the  last  blow  had  struck. 

"A  fever  followed  and  he  did  not  rally.  Phy- 
sicians from  the  city  came,  but  could  not  help 
him.  Yet  they  said  when  the  rains  stopped 
and  spring  came,  there  would  probably  be  a 
change  for  the  better.  Spring  came.  The 
poppies  and  (u-cam-cups  blossomed  on  the 
hills.  The  warm  sunshine  and  pure  air  were 
life-giving,  but  they  wrought  no  change  in 
Harry.  He  became  only  the  shadow  of  my 
once  beautiul  boy.  With  a  despairing  heart  I 
watched  his  departing  life  until  one  May  morn- 
ing it  went  out  forever. 

"I  buried  him  beside  his  father  and  with  him 
I  seemed  to  bury  every  hope.  And,  oh,  what 
months  of  cruel,  crushing  sorrow  followed! 
In  my  first  grief  I  thought  I  saw  a  hand  of 
justice  and  I  rebelled  only  against  myself.  But 
in  this  I  rebelled  against  all  in  a  bitter,  despair- 
ing agony  of  soul.     I  cannot  tell  you  how  long 


THE   PROFESSOR'S    STORY.  245 

and  hard  and  painful  the  strife  was,  but  here, 
all  alone  with  the  sky  and  the  hills  and  the 
ocean,  I  have  struggled  out  of  that  bitterness 
into  peace — not  unbroken,  not  perfect,  but 
real  and  comforting  to  my  sorely  sorrowing- 
heart. 

"And  here  I  am,  alone  and  old.  I  attend  to 
the  affairs  of  my  ranch  and  I  always  shall.  I 
cannot  leave  it  though  I  could  well  afford  to 
live  away.  But  my  husband  died  here  and  my 
Harry  died  here  and  I  shall  stay  here  till  the 
end.  You  are  the  first  student  who  has  vis- 
ited here  since  those  who  came  to  bury  their 
class-mate,  my  boy.  There  is  something  in 
your  face  which  has  drawn  me  to  you  and 
moved  me  to  tell  you  my  story.  You  are  too 
young  to  realize  it  now,  perhaps,  yet  sometime 
you  may  do  well  to  remember  it.  But  it  is 
late  and  you  are  tired.  I  have  wearied  you 
too  long  with  an  old  woman's  troubles. 
There's  a  light  in  your  room  at  the  end  of  the 
hall."  And  then  glancing  at  the  clock  she 
added:  "Unless  you  are  in  a  hurry,  I  won't 
call  you  too  early  in  the  morning." 

When    the    professor,    with    flushed    face, 


24G  ON   A    WESTERN   CAMPUS. 

suffused  eyes  and  melting  earnestness  of  voice, 
finished  his  tale  there  was  an  almost  solemn 
stillness  in  the  dimly-lighted  room,  and  no 
one  wished  to  be  the  first  to  break  it.  Before 
any  one  spoke,  the  chapel  bell  began  to  toll 
out  the  last  moments  of  the  year.  The  circle 
sat  in  silence  till  the  wild  clangor  of  bells  and 
shrill  screaming  of  whistles  announced  the 
new.  The  host  turned  on  the  lights;  the 
company  arose,  exchanging  greetings  and 
good-wishes  and  began  to  gather  around  Pro- 
fessor Rolleston.  The  first  to  reach  him  was 
the  instructress  in  French.  She  grasped  his 
hand  with  a  warm  New  Year's  greeting  and 
with  glistening  eyes,  she  earnestly  expressed 
her  appreciation.  Then  others  pressed  around 
and  fairly  confused  the  modest  professor  with 
praise  and  compliment.  He  was  still  the  cen- 
ter of  an  admiring  group  when  the  guests  be- 
gan to  depart. 

At  last  when  this  group  was  dispersing,  the 
Latin  professor  touched  the  host  upon  the 
shoulder,  directed  his  attention  to  it  with  a 
glance,  smiled  significantly  and  said:  "Our 
enigma   has  revealed  himself  and  I  am  sure  we 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   STORY.  247 

are  all  charmed  with  the  revelation.  Besides 
he  has  completely  captured  our  impulsive 
Miss  Lamar.  His  romance  and  pathos  have 
gone  straight  to  her  sympathetic  heart.  See! 
They  are  still  talking  by  the  mantel.  Ah! 
They  are  going  away  together.  Professor 
Townsend,  I  fear  this  will  result  in  total  ex- 
piation!" 


4tW 


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